The Red Ribbon
by streakie257
Summary: Modern. AUish. Erik Christine. EVIL!Raoul You have been warned. Fuller, not necessarily better summary inside. There’s the ‘Phantom of the Opera’ and then there’s their story. M for Language and situations.
1. Playbill

The Red Ribbon

_Modern. AU. Erik/ Christine. EVIL!Raoul (You have been warned.) Christine, a young woman with a dark past becomes the toast of the New York Opera scene thanks to the help of her tutor, a slightly older, much more mysterious 'ghost' named Erik. There's the 'Phantom of the Opera' and then there's their story._

Casting

Christine Daaé aka Alyssa Milano w/ Sarah Brightman's voice. (Charmed, but with longer hair)

Erik Destler aka Adrian Brody w/ the same disfigurement, mask and Voice as Michael Crawford's Phantom

Meg Giry aka a shorter Gwen Stefani

George Darby aka Taye Diggs (From Rent, though not as semi evil as Benny)

Marie Giry aka Helen Mirren if she had long white hair

Cecilia Horner aka Helen Mirren if she had short mousy hair

James Horner aka James Cromwell (From The Queen)

Raoul de Cheney aka Jude Law (he's always looked like the type to play a rich bitch)

Hector Ramón aka Jai Rodriguez (From Queer Eye for the Straight Guy)

Max aka Willie Garson (Stanford from Sex and the City)

Faber Hunt aka Pierce Bronson ala Remington Steele

Firmin aka Ciarán Hinds (Phantom 2004 as Firmin) but with his hair from Jane Eyre

André aka Simon Callow (Phantom 2004 as André) with the Count Fosco hair

Doug Archer aka John Lawrence (one of my very good friend's Dad) if you Google him use key words John Lawrence and Iowa State University

**From the songs to the people to the story I don't own. Nadda, Zip, Zilch is mine. I have given some money to ALW, I have a very well love CD of Original Londan Cast Highlights of Phantom. Other than that, nothing.**

Enjoy!


	2. Prologue

Prologue

A loft in Inwood, New York – The Singers' Slum

"You really should audition, Chris. The Phantom demands Carlotta is replaced by the end of the week. Even if the managers don't get the balls to fire her (I doubt it) there's always a spot in the chorus. It's the prefect job for you." Meg Giry seriously told her flatmate and friend over dinner. Meg was a principle dancer for the New York Opera, as well as the official gossip, daughter of the choreographer, and keeper of the "Phantom's tale". Christine Daaé rolled her eyes behind her wine glass.

"I'm not going to quit my job so I can play out a modern day Phantom knock off with some 'phan'."

"She's got a point Meggie; right now she's paying almost all the rent." Meg's boyfriend, the voice of logic in the flat chimed in, earning a raspberry from his long time partner. George Darby was the third renter on the lease. He was a free lance hacker, currently more free than hacking. Christine's job, though a mere secretary was the highest paying, most dependable out of the three.

"But you love opera; this is a chance to do more than just sing in the shower."

"I also love to eat, three bohemian salaries isn't very much." Christine countered.

"Oh would you stop being so…" Meg searched for the right word.

"Serious" George chimed in "or worrisome."

"How 'bout anal retentive?" Meg added, "Or…"

"Alright! I get it let's all point out my character flaws until I'm beaten down with self loathing!" She flung rice at her friends.

"So many targets, we may be here a while, unless of course you surrender!" Meg flung the grains back.

"NEVER!" Christine stood raising her fist in the air. Her friends laughed. They worked so well together. She had moved to New York almost two years ago, jaded and looking for a new life. Meg and George had lost their previous roomies to marriage and the right place and time met. The partners sprang opposite her; there was a brief food fight.

"I French! Alright, I French!" Christine surrendered to her companions who had teamed up on her. They sat back to dinner with dignity, as if they hadn't been running around the apartment moments earlier. "If it's okay with work I will audition, probably not tomorrow but the next day. Square it with who's ever in charge."

"Come in." Christine pushed open her boss's door at his kind voice's acknowledgement. Douglas Archer was an economist; he analyzed and advised the surprisingly varied markets of swine, cattle, corn, and soybeans. He and his family had adopted her with Midwestern grace and manors the second day of work.

"Christine, what can I do for you, is the shower acting up again?" This was a man who could build you a fence or a market plan.

"Oh no, the loft and us are back to the honeymoon stage of the relationship. I'm here to ask you about … um…" she paused. "Meg told me over dinner the opera has some holes in its cast for the upcoming production, she wants me to audition…"

"And you want my blessing?" he filled in.

"No, just your policy on such an endeavor." She didn't want to sound presumptuous. "This would pay some amount of money and take a fair amount of time…"

"Take all the time you need, you get beyond my expectations done in half the time my last assistant did to do the minimum. Take as long as you like Christine and come in when you can. And if you get a big enough part I will perhaps reluctantly part with you to see your name up in lights. Just promise me you'll tell Kitty all about it." Katherine Archer was the only daughter of her boss, a teenaged girl with self doubt, love of theatre, cynicism and grand dreams. A recipe for disaster of the teen angst variety.

"You can't be serious!" Christine knew he was a nice man but this was too much.

"If I'm lying I'm dying." He smiled.

"You. Are. Amazing." She could hardly get the words out for shear excitement.

"You really should talk to my daughter about that fact."

"Other." Christine returned to some professionalism, he was so kind she had to do something to deserve it. "I'm waiting on you when it comes to the latest USDA report. North Carolina's job is typed if you just tell me where to send it and I have the latest packer – feeder report whenever you're ready for it."

"Like I said Christine, you are a gem. I'll have the USDA response for you in a little bit; I need to finish checking the first draft. John Lawrence at Iowa State needs to see those numbers on the NC project, call his office, it's noon there but if I know that workaholic he should be in. As for the PF report I'll trade you for it when I give you my response." Christine nodded and headed for the office door, she paused.

"Oh, Mr. Archer." Her boss leveled a glare at her; she corrected herself "Doug. I'm not sure when I'll be auditioning, but I will call you when I find out."

"Just take the day off." He told her before setting back to work.

Christine sat at her computer neglecting everything but her feeling of utter disbelief. This was big, this was very big. Everything she always dreamed of and more. Now if she could shake the feeling that she was going to blow it.


	3. Act One Scene One

Act One; Scene One

The New York Opera House

Christine had been it the Opera House many times before, she had seen it in every light imaginable and every time it managed to render her speechless. The building was grand and gilded harkening back to the days it was built, a sister to the Opera Populiare of Paris. Inside the glitz and glamour mingled with the allure of the stage made her knees weak. She had basked in the glory of several productions from tickets Meg and her mother had scored for free or cheap. She had had lunch with Meg and the dancers, enjoying bohemia. Now she was in the "Green Room", jello for legs, attempting to warm her voice with a C scale. Sweet heaven she was nervous. Tension contorted her body and muffled her scenes.

"Chris?" Meg asked sticking her head in.

"AH!" Christine jumped almost two feet voice hitting a high E.

"Oh Chris, I'm sorry!" She laughed as her friend clutched her chest, breast raising and falling like a marathon runner. "They're ready for you now, cast is on break." Christine held up a finger to indicate the need of a moment.

"Give me a second to get my heart rate in check." Meg laughed again Christine held up a finger, this time indicating what Meg could go do to herself. With a final deep breath Christine squared her shoulders.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Meg took her hand and lead her to the stage.

"Are you reassuring me?" She gestured to the entwined fingers.

"Keeping you from running." Oh how well she was known. Meg deposited her on the wings and gave her hand a squeeze.

"I'll be out in the audience." The manager's called her name. She crossed herself and took a deep breath before stepping center stage.

Silver eyes cut though the darkness of box five like the daggers they resembled. The Opera Ghost was a man, but he and legend shared more than a title, the white porcelain on the right side of his face was a testimony. He sat up straighter in his seat silently sliding his pen closed. He had been taking notes on the rehearsal; there were many flaws to list, almost two full legal pages worth. But he had a feeling no 'constructive criticism' was needed for this. The managers only headed his call for a better chorus after he got very specific, and very violent. They would however not budge from the casting of Carlotta as the Diva yet again. His rage at this was stopped by the appearance of Miss Daaé on his stage. He knew a fair bit about her name. Charles Daaé was a violinist, a gifted one at that, who married a French heiress. Mrs. Daaé died when Christine was very young. Charles lasted long enough to see his only child grow before dying himself, leaving his baby girl to get though school and life alone. Of Christine Daaé herself he knew next to nothing. She was Meg Giry's roommate. Marie had adopted her as a second daughter. She was spoken highly of. Oh and she attended every performance she could get tickets for.

"What will you be singing for us today?" Gilles André, the other manager Richard Firmin and musical director Simone Reyer all hissed whispers to one another before having her begin,

"On your own time." A beat and she began to sing.

_Pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu  
Qui tollis peccata mundi  
Dona eis requiem, dona eis requiem__1_

She was a soprano, with a pure sound – for the most part. Already pleasant to listen to with some tutoring she would be perfect. This woman was a keeper, a diva to be in fact, he would make sure of it. He could be her tutor. Yes, he would be. This decided he sat back and enjoying her words.

She was feeling more at ease as the song progressed; she found a place to rest her eyes. Box five, a peace settled over her. Good God her eyes were blue. A jolt went thought him at the sight. They were fixed on him; those eyes like summer sky were looking at him, though him.

She felt weak with relief, almost to tears when she finished her song and Reyer stood up. The director gave her an ovation, the managers followed,

"Brava, brava, bravissimo!" A soft voice, meant to be heard by no one met Christine's ears.

"Vat es dis?" The shrill voice of Carlotta Giudicelli killed the moment. The Prima Donna of the last three seasons marched angrily to center stage brandishing a finger with a crimson talon like fake finger nail at the judges. She was a fake woman, hair color, nails, tan, chest, and singing style. Only her ego was genuine.

"Vat es dis?!" She demanded again.

"Auditions for a slot in the chorus." A glimmer of backbone form Firmin.

"Standing ovation por a chorus girl? Unless ze flazed you 'er tits – SIT DOWN!" Christine was floored, absolutely devoid of emotion, how was she to respond to this?

"Miss-" Christine began but Carlotta rounded on her.

"I AM THE DIVA!" She screeched. Christine backed away a little.

"No one is arguing that signora!" André attempted to circumvent the tantrum brewing.

"I am." The voice was barely audible but Christine's ears picked it up, she looked around discreetly for the near – silent truth teller. She saw no one, although her eyes were drawn to box five, there was pull there. Perhaps it was because she naturally let her head drift in that direction or it was some sort of chi. Either way here eyes rested on the dark box for a long moment.

"I will not stand for this!" Carlotta's newest threat drew Christine's eyes back to her. "Let me remind you all why I AM THE STAR!" Christine flinched, as did many of the large crowd that was gathering. Carlotta began to sing.

_Think of me, think of me fondly,_

_when we've said goodbye._

_Remember me once in a while,_

_please promise me you'll try._

If you could call it that. It was full of falls and vibratos, in a word over done. It was always the one thing Christine hated about coming to see Meg; she was forced to see Carlotta as well.

He had had quite enough of that, springing to an oversized pillar he opened the secret door silently and climbed to the rafters. He had been in charge of the renovations to the place when it had gotten a face lift about five years ago; he now knew every nook and cranny of the place. Soon he was on the catwalk over head as Carlotta continued to strut as a peacock and destroy all the good there ever was in music. The only flaw in his plan was the fact that his Christine was standing next to the peacock on the stage, when the backdrop falls she would be hit as well. But her ears were amazing. He could've sworn she had heard his quiet protest of Carlotta's status. She had looked right at him. Right in his eyes. She would hear the canvas falling before she was hurt, he knew she would. It was a chance he was willing to take to shut up 'the diva'.

"Think of MMMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!" Carlotta hit a sour high note. But despite the pain of an off key word Christine still heard something amiss. Not a near silent voice but the sound of falling. She looked up to see a backdrop dropping towards them. Her reaction time was quick; she had barely vacated the spot she had been in when the drop came down. She hit the oak stage hard on the knees, probably leaving bruises; the backdrop hit Carlotta hard everywhere leveling her to the stage. There were squeaks and squeaks from underneath the thing as the mighty diva wrestled her way out of it, no one dared intervene for she might rip off the nearest appendage to her hand once she was free.

"That dis it!" Carlotta screamed as soon as her head was out from under the tarp. "For the past three years dis SHIT has been happening. I quit!" This announcement from their diva brought the managers in a rush to help her and most of the cast in a rush to help her out the door.

"Carlotta these things do happen, I'm sure it was an accident." André's tone was begging for a crew member to save him from the hot water and say it was their poor knot that had dropped the canvas. No such luck.

"Si," She was speaking Italian now, she was truly pissed. "Dese things do happen. And do you stop dem from happening? NO!" That was a bit harsh, this was the first time he'd ever dropped a background on anybody. He was more of a cerebral ghost. He used words to make his demands not actions, any actions he did take were that of the 'Gaslight' variety. He'd switch ropes around so the wrong curtains would clothes, he'd tinker with props and costumes but he'd never done such a physical trick before. It was a rush, he needed to remember that for future reference.

"Until you stop dese things from happening DIS THING DOES NOT HAPPEN!" With that Carlotta stormed out of the theatre still screaming. A hush fell as the room listened to the noise she was making all the way out to the street.

All eyes turned to Christine who pulled herself off of the stage and dusted off her black slacks as best she could.

"Well, Ms. Daaé we seem to have a spot open as Elissa. Are you interested?"

_Oh my God_! was the last thing Christine thought before everything went black.

"Ms. Daaé… Ms. Daaé…" Christine was brought back by someone's soft voice. Slowly her eyes fluttered open. Mr. Reyer's concerned expression came into focus. Christine took a deep breath that was when she felt the distinct lack of her ribbon necklace. Her hand immediately flew to her neck, it was a gut response, they had already seen her scar, the painful, ugly reminder of her past, but her body did it anyway. Then did she realize she was on the ground. Why… oh yes… the part.

"Ms. Daaé, are you alright?" Reyer asked he was crouched beside her; there was a mob of people a few feet back.

"Shocked." She said finding her voice strange. "I came here to be a chorus girl and now I'm the lead." She sat up, hand still on her neck.

"You'll do it then?" Reyer asked excitedly.

"Yes! Yes!" She was floating on air. Meg rushed forward to embrace her friend. Marie Giry soon joined them. She was like a mother to her, they embraced.

"Congratulations my dear." As they pulled away Marie handed her her red velvet ribbon. She knew the signs of someone hiding something. Marie had never seen all of Christine's neck, there was always a collar or a red ribbon. When she fainted Marie had removed the chocker to let her breath easier, there she saw the evidence of a secret. The scar was long, thin, and raised, stretching from left to right across her pale neck. It was a wonder she was not dead. Christine tied the ribbon around her neck and looked more relaxed. Erik was the same way.

The second the backdrop fell Marie knew it was Erik; he really did not like Carlotta. She had known Erik Destler for many years, he was like the son she never had. There was love in their relationship even in the rocky parts, and parts were rocky. Erik's greatest flaw was a strong self loathing, he was convinced that he was a monster and that society agreed with him. He was really only a genius with a birth defect. But for as smart as he was he was also stubborn.

Rehearsal wasn't over but Erik had enough criticisms to last several notes, he also had an errand to run. This Daaé needed welcoming.

"You could've hurt her, Erik." No hello on the other end of the line. Erik chuckled.

"Hello Marie." He said, "The loss of Carlotta is no major sorrow and she came out uninjured."

"Christine! Erik." Marie snapped, this was her borrowed daughter.

"She has good reflexes." And looks too he added silently. Marie sighed on the other end.

"What do you want?"

"I have a present for our new diva. I'd like you to deliver it."

"It's not a fake severed head is it?" Marie remembered the gift he had gave the last diva.

"No, no. I'll see you in a bit. I hope she'll like it." He truly hoped she did. A note and a single red rose tied with a black ribbon. It seemed like her. She had worn all black; black scoop neck shirt, black slacks, black pointed to stiletto boots that should've been registered as weapons. The only color had been a red ribbon around her neck.

Corks popped in a poor man's celebration at the Darby, Giry, Daaé loft. Her friends toasted her and fawned over her and in general made her very uncomfortable. Never had see gotten so much attention. When a knock at the door was heard Christine jumped to her feet, anxious to get away.

"Sit Chris." Meg waved her down, but Christine made her escape. Marie Giry greeted her with a motherly smile.

"Madame." Her pet name. "Here for Meg?" Christine stepped aside to allow the mother in but Marie shook her head.

"I'm here for you. I'm very proud, and so is He." She handed the now confused young woman Erik's rose and note. Christine arched a brow.

"See you tomorrow, get some sleep dear." Giry gave her a kiss on each cheek and left her alone with the gifts. Christine closed the door and raised the thorn - less rose to her nose. It was beautiful. She turned her attention to the note; it was tri - folded with a very 'old school' wax seal of a dragon and five petal flower. She broke the red wax and unfolded the page of parchment stationary. In bold, confident black ink was written;

_Welcome to the Opera, mon ange. You sang beautifully._

_Your faithful servant,_

_O.G._

_PS. My apologies for any injury from the backdrop _

Christine looked again at the flower in her hand.

* * *

1 From ALW/ Sarah Brightman – Requiem; In English the lines are - Merciful Jesus, Who takes away the sins of the world, Grant them rest, Lamb of God, Grant them everlasting rest 


	4. Act One Scene Two

Act One; Scene Two

The New York Opera House, Christine's private dressing room

Christine sat in her new dressing room with her new libretto and a piano recording of the music. It was late on her second day of rehearsals, she was in a bind; a full three weeks behind everyone else in learning the opera.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good bye…" she sang along with the simple melody Mr. Reyer was so kind as to have recorded for her. This was her big song, she needed to know this one for sure. The song ended and she moved to restart the song and close her words. She tried it off book.

"Think of me, think of me fondly…"

"Stand up straighter, you're shoulders aren't quite square." A disembodied voice told her with soft authority. Christine stopped in shock.

"Hello?"

"You're constricting your air." The voice said. She looked around the room for someone, something, any thing that would explain the voice. No suck luck.

"Who are you?"

"Your tutor" Christine sat down heavily.

"I'm going crazy."

Erik laughed; when he decided to visit her as a tutor he hadn't expected to gaslight her.

"No you're not." He told her.

She was hearing voices, very sexy, deep voices; the timber resonated within her and gave her a warm feeling. Which was ludicrous. It was a disembodied voice. One giving her chills, and not because there was no source.

"I'm going crazy." She said again, getting warm fuzzies from a voice in her head. Although her mind would know what turned her on…

"No you're not." The voice said again.

"The who the hell are you?"

"Your tutor." Her Tutor? She was nuts.

"How operatic." She snapped. "Where are you?" She sprang to her feet, where in the room was he? He could see her but she couldn't see him. The voice chuckled that sexy chuckle again, the one that sent desire zigzagging down her body; damn it was hot. She groaned.

"Show yourself."

"You should be practicing." It told her, what chutzpah.

"I was before you came."

"And you tone was marred by poor air support." The voice told her flatly. "Perhaps if you took your necklace off."

"No!" She grasped at her ribbon.

"I think it's restricting your song."

"I think you should see me face to face if you want to criticize anything." She could hear him huff.

"Let's rehearse then."

Erik ground his teeth silently. Christine Daaé was beautiful, but he was beginning to see a stubborn streak to rival his own.

"From the top of the aria." He told her, she rolled her marvelous eyes and reset the tape. "On four."

"I'm all yours my good insanity." He counted off; she began to sing and it was beautiful. She minded his comments (minus the ones about her necklace) and after running though it with script several times it was ready for the world.

"Brava Christine, Brava." The voice applauded her. "That's all for today, tomorrow I understand you're running blocking with the cast?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Come here afterwards and we'll work on the opening song for you. Until then go home, eat well and get plenty of sleep."

Early November in the city was something that despite a year's worth of experience and preparation Christine could not get used to. She understood cold weather, she was from Minnesota and her father was Swedish, but this city cold was different. It was damper, it clung more to the bones and chilled long after a person was free from it. She sat huddled on the train heading back to her loft after her rehearsal. Her mind hummed as her body numbed and she drew her coat tighter around her trying to disappear in it. Her tutor? Such strange events, first she's named Diva and then a mysterious tutor comes to her. What had she gotten herself into? Was this her man or her mind? She had always considered herself sane but with a voice and no body she began to doubt. The voice rang in her head over and over again, like it belonged there – was this a sign that it was in fact a figment of her imagination. However she tried to get it to say other things, if this was just her thoughts than the melt worthy voice should be able to be sexy while saying 'Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers', however each try her own mental voice said the line. Maybe she wasn't crazy…

The mystery of the musician haunted her all train ride and all night. Was she or wasn't she… this was driving her crazy, crazier than when she thought she was hearing voices. She had thought about asking Meg about the habits of the 'Opera Ghost' – did he enjoy hanging out in women's dressing room? But Meg was a very spontaneous person, quick to anger and act, never one to think hard about actions. She'd flip out for sure. And George would over analyze everything and she didn't want any more of a mess than what she had in her head already.

A resolution came in the night, as they often do. It flung her up from her pillows with her decision. He would come to her again for another 'lesson' if he wanted her voice he'd have to show her his face. Prove to her that he was real, not a foible in her head or an opera ghost in haunting.


	5. Act One Scene Three

Act One; Scene Three

The Home of Erik Destler, Music Room

Erik sat at his organ later that night too deep in thought to play. He hadn't been exactly sure what he had been thinking when he had gone to her that afternoon. Yes, her voice needed some fine tuning, but he could've just as easily written strict instructions for Simone to follow, he was no fool, he was very capable of instructing. But no, instead he had gone himself, a fine mess he was now in. Her reaction was an interesting one, she had jumped to insanity instead of fear, yet she still worked with him, despite believing herself nuts. She was even prettier up close. He had found her figure pleasing from a distance, but to see it up close he found it wasn't pleasing, but perfect. Very hard to be an aloof teacher, opera ghost when your pupil makes yours dilate. She had a womanly hourglass shape accented well by her simple, fitted black clothing. It was the second day in a row she wore the color, but it seemed to suit her, a little mysterious, a little understated, a little sexy. She was sexy, her eyes, those clear blue gems, those full crimson lips that matched the velvet ribbon around her neck. The ribbon – a little gothic and very secretive. Like Linus and his blanky was she and her ribbon. It seemed to be her accessory of choice; she had worn it yesterday as well. Ah, Christine, his dark princess.

Dark princess, he shook his head, so much for being unattached. He was the prince of darkness (because of his abhorrent face, not a taste for bats) but he could not have a princess. Not when she would be his angel of music. "How very operatic". Her voice rang in her head. Yes Christine you will be.


	6. Act One Scene Four

Act One; Scene Four

The New York Opera House, Christine's private dressing room

Christine had taken extra time in dressing for the day. Two reasons – 1, she had worn black the last two days; she knew it was her preferred uniform, but they didn't know that. So today she opted for a black and lace skirt, knee high black leather boots, and a red cotton ¾ length sweater. She didn't wear her velvet ribbon, nor her satin ribbon, nor her black ribbon. Perhaps her 'tutor' would allow her a loose black scarf instead of a bare neck, something she wasn't ready for. The knit allowed her more room to expand her throat but it was comfortably covering.

The cast was a dream to work with. They were so helpful and pleasant. They never yelled at her for a missed step and they worked the same scene over and over again.

Her dressing room was exactly as she had left it that night before, except for one thing. On her vanity in a crystal bud vase was another thorn less red rose with a black bow. _I'm very proud of you and so is he._ Marie's voice rang in her head as she stroked the delicate petals.

"You did very well in rehearsal today." The voice said she whipped around in vain, hoping to find a body. No such luck.

"Um, thank you."

"And I listened to your performance, much improved. See how a little air support helps?"

"Yes." So shy, she needed to stick to her resolve; she needed a definitive answer – nuts or blind.

"Let's work on the first song for you – start the tape please."

"No."

"What?" the voice sounded surprised.

"Not a note from me until I see you, or confirm that I'm nutsy and you're a pretty voice in my head."

"I'm not a voice in your head."

"Then let me see the head the voice is in. If not mine then who's?"

"I'm your tutor, trust me."

"I'm not going to refer to you as 'tutor' and not 'master' Tell me your name!"

"Some call me OG."

"Every ghost was once a man and every man has a name. So float through some wall and introduce yourself properly." She crossed her arms confidence renewed.

Yep, she definitely had a stubborn streak. He couldn't blame her, he'd refuse lessons from a seemingly omnipresent voice too. He had just hoped she'd ask later.

Erik flipped the switch that controlled the mirror he'd installed the two way and all of his other passage ways thinking he couldn't – surely the opera would notice. Ha! His letters were from jokesters in the company and their idea of investigation was send somebody to the flies and look for a smoking gun. He stepped into her dressing room, and her sky blue eyes matched their color with size.

"Erik." He said extending his hand, she took it and he placed a chaste kiss on its smooth back.

"Christine." She squeaked as electricity shot through them both.

This Erik was a tall man, but with good shoulders shown off by his simple button down shirt of crisp white. His black slacks hugged him in the right places. It was enough to make the silkiest of tongues turn to cotton. _God damn_. When her eyes finally drifted away from his belt and surrounding area they rested on his hands, he sill held hers in his left, it was warm, smooth, and long. Her father would've called them musician's hands.

"So," Erik said his voice… Christine hated his hand leaving hers. Everything about him made her weak. "Can I get some notes out of you now?" he smiled. _I have never felt like this for once I'm lost for words, your smile has really threw me. _

"Note this before my notes; there's not a note of mine that's worth the noting." Yay her for having a snappy saying. And damn him for having a sexy laugh. There was more sexual fireworks between them than Independence Day in DC.

"Let's start on your first song, if you would start the tape I'll be everyone but you." She licked her lips, if his singing voice was half as beautiful as his speaking voice she was in trouble. She tried her voice, praise the powers that be, it was perfect. Perfect until he sang. She nearly orgasmed on the spot. _Sweet music's throne _she mentally moaned. He was better off in her head. She was better off with him in her head.

Erik was humming – more than just the music. She asked for him with fire and a smile. Her hands were small, like the rest of her, but also smooth and hinted with lilac lotion, when he kissed the back of her hand he felt a jolt, stronger than her voice believe it or not. He was in trouble. She didn't blink when she looked him in the eye, the zipper – yes, face – no. Was she unlike all the others? Could she look past his appearance to see the real him? He wanted to hope but dared not. Negative thoughts were his one cooling agent as he sang beside her. Sparks were flying all around, he wanted to marvel in the beauty but he feared the burn.

An hour later Erik cut them off, he was having fun but he didn't' want to tax her voice.

"Splended job Christine, memorization comes easily to you, no?" he asked turning to smile at her. She blushed demurely at the praise.

"I suppose so." She replied.

"Same time tomorrow?" she nodded enthusiastically.

It wasn't until she got home did she realize had had a mask on. The left side was very attractive, smooth, sculpted by the Gods. His coloring was warm, even his fair skin was inviting, his hair was a chestnut and his eyes were like molten silver. He had movie star good looks. The right side was a different story. There was a white porcelain mask; it covered him from forehead to lips, gorgeous lips.

Their daily lesson quickly became Christine's favorite time of day. Rehearsals went well but really her lessons were when she felt special. Erik had stopped hiding from her; he would appear from behind the mirror after she looked herself in. They would greet each other warmly and work well together but she got less and less and less satisfaction with that routine. Eventually after a week of wondering she turned to him as he declared the lesson over.

"Erik, hold up." He looked down at her.

"Yes Christine?" now she felt stupid.

"Well, we've known each other for like a week and I'm assuming we'll know each other for at least another…"

"At least." He agreed.

"Then… we'll… I know you but I well don't know you."

"I see." He said slowly. "How do we rectify the situation?" she paused.

"Um…. Uh… oh! Here we go… you give me twenty or whatever random facts and I'll do the same." He looked at her wit a quirked brow, clearly saying– 'You're nuts'.

"Random fact – one of my goals in life is to have every person I know look at me just once with a look that suggest they doubt my sanity."

"Oookaaay…" Erik's 'you're crazy' face was adorable.

"Now you tell me something." She looked up at him bright eyes shining. _I think you're beautiful._

"Um… I have no idea what to say." She groaned dramatically.

"Don't make me fish." He shrugged and she swatted his bare forearm. He hade rolled up his expensive shirtsleeves to reveal muscular arms. A zing went through them both.

"You always look nice, you have wonderful clothing, what do you do for a living?" he was delicious in a red oxford shirt, she loved the color for yet another reason.

"I'm not making the connection but I'm the Opera Ghost…"

"Clothing… job work… clothing… anyway beside being OG what do you do when you're not haunting?" Erik laughed.

"I went to school for engineering and architecture but my passion has always been music. I compose, I 'haunt', and I have a contracting firm."

"Prey, what is your age my busy bee?"

"Where's a random fact for me?" Christine laughed.

"My favorite color is red. Now – how old are you?"

"32, what about you?"

"28. How does the mirror work?"

"The mirror?"

"The portal you travel though when you Mr. OG, omnipresent critic, tell me about it."

They were having a conversation. An actual conversation. Erik was floored, he'd never really had a conversation before, at least not with a woman. He'd 'talk' with members of the opposite sex, generally they talked he was stuck listening. They'd have noting in common and then there would be awkward questions about his face. None of that with Christine, she was inquisitive and a good listener. She had good words and interests that interested him.

Christine was thrilled to find someone to talk with. He was one of the few men to listen to her, like she had an opinion, like she had a brain. George and her dear father were the only others to do that. They talked about the opera and the opera house and how he was able to use the mirror and not get caught. They talked until Meg swung by and banged on the door. Erik flew from his spot leaning on her vanity to sliding the mirror open, she caught his wrist before he was gone though.

"One of these days you'll have to take me with you." He squeezed her wrist and was gone in a flash.

"Chris!" Meg exclaimed as soon as the door opened. "Why'd you lock the door?" Meg looked around.

"I was practicing." Christine was telling the truth.

"Well, are ya done, we're going out to raise hell before tech. the Diva must attend." Christine glanced back at the mirror; she could still feel him behind the mirror.

"Go" he seemed to say.

"So where we going?" Christine asked.

The bar they went to was bohemian all the way, but for bohemians that was just fine. Christine, Meg, several ballet rats, a few chorus members, and Piangi's understudy met with George. Drinking, dancing, and debauchery were the order of the night. Christine sat back and indulged in a glass of the finest cheep white wine. Eight years ago she'd be in on the blow job shots. This night she was only in on her thoughts. Erik. That man could leave her humming in the most wonderful way.

26


	7. Act One Scene Five

Act One; Scene Five

The New York Opera House, a Performance of 'Hannibal'

Tech rehearsals were murder. Absolute murder. From usual starting time until ungodly hours of the night they had to sing and dance until their appendages pile up on the floor, they were then allowed to drag their semi lifeless bodies home, only to have to repeat the experience the next morning. To top it off Christine hadn't seen hide or hair of him all week. Yes she was a zombie but she missed his voice… and his appearance… and his warmth. She missed him. On Wednesday, the toughest day of rehearsal there was a red rose with a black bow but no Erik. She sighed heavily, thankful for his support – however silent. But she could still wish to see him. On her way out she passed the mirror. Silently she rested her hand against the cool glass. Then her head. She pretended she could feel him. For a second she could. The peace was comfort she could carry with her.

Erik stood on the other side of the mirror like he did every night, watching silently over her safety. She had looked so down all week he had to bring a smile back. He was successful. When she touched the mirror at first he was surprised but he soon picked up on the silent hug. He rested his hand on hers through the glass and his cheek atop her head. Through the mirror he held her. Oh to be able to in real life, unhindered by glass. But that was just a dream. He still hadn't figured out how she could stand him after seeing his mask, she might be progressive and 'down' with it but there was no way in hell this Angel of Music could be 'down' with what was underneath it. He must've just barely breathed her new title because she backed away to gaze piercingly at him, to see him but not.

"Erik?" she said again. He again made no sound. Hanging her head she left for the night.

Thursday the director went easy on them, not wanting ill effects on his company come opening they ran the show full without make up, and then were lectured about tomorrow before they allowed to leave. Christine already had butterflies. By make up call of opening night those butterflies had morphed into raptors. Christine was beyond nervous, like water so hot it felt cold she was so hyper – tense she was calm.

Backstage of opening night was a mad house, the chaos was enough to make you cry. Christine wanted to but the make up crew had just finished caking pounds of grease paint on her face, neck, and exposed chest. Her pours were never going to be the same. After getting slathered in make up (making her look like a clown whore) she was passed off to the hair people who yanked and teased every hair on her head until she was sure she was bald before emptying a can of hair spray on her, making her sore head a helmet. She could deflect bullets probably. Then it was time to try and pour herself into her dress. It was a miracle she could sing – she could barely breath. Marie Giry helped her dress and Christine was dearly grateful. Marie was like her mother she hadn't had in twenty five years. She was gentle but firm, a source of support she could sink into. With Marie and her family Christine didn't feel so lonely. Marie had found an ornate 'diamond' necklace for Christine to wear to hide her scar, they had never talked about it but both knew. Christine was most thankful for her blessings. Soon she was finished. Marie embraced her warmly.

"We are all so very proud of you. You will be amazing."

"Merci Madam." Christine said feeling a little more confident.

"He will be in his usual seat, box five it's on your right when you face him. It's closets to the stage." So Marie knew Erik, she had thought as much but never asked. Christine nodded and took a deep breath. Joe, the stage manager came by shortly after.

"Fifteen minutes Chris." He gave her a smile.

"Fifteen thank you." She replied. Marie gave her one last hug before leaving her to get ready for curtain. The curtain rose, Christine crossed herself. It was go time.

Christine was weak with relief, if one of the numerous bouquets that were being chucked at her hit her she'd go down. She had made it, survived and was successful. There was someone looking out for her up there. There was someone looking for her down here as well.

Christine had barely gotten her regular shirt on before her dressing room door flew open.

"Christine Daaé where is your scarf?" She didn't need to turn around to know who had caught her with her pants down. It was a combination of freezing air and expensive cologne in the room along with a silky, snide, deadly voice that brought tears to Christine's eyes without the blatant reference to the past. It was,

"Raoul." Christine said weakly, barely getting her pants up.

"You can't have lost it. After all the trouble I took…" _To insure I will forever wear it! _She wanted to scream; instead she sat down at her vanity and nervously fixed her turtle neck's neck.

"I threw it away."

"Threw it away? I got myself very dirty to give you that thing." _Yes, very bloody. _Christine grimly thought, screwing up her courage she turned to face him fully for the first time in nearly two years. He looked very much the same; the same perfectly styled blonde hair, same chiseled, stubble free chin, perfect thin nose, high cheek bones, groomed brows, same expensive clothing, and the same eyes. The same cold, cold eyes. Christine took a breath.

"That special" she spat the words "piece of clothing holds nothing for me now; it's in the past, in the trash where the memories belong."

"Oh little Lottie, you always did throw away important things… like me. I haven't forgiven you for leaving me high and dry alone in Saint Paul." Christine flinched, she knew what he truly meant by not being forgiven, what he did… _Dear God get me or him out of here_ she frantically prayed.

"But you can make it up to me" he said there was no suggestion in his voice. "Make yourself presentable, we're going to a party, and I'm going to have the _Diva_ of the New York Opera on my arm." He stepped behind her laying a large hand on her shoulder, she cowered.

"And she's going to look _hot._" He squeezed her shoulder painfully. "She doesn't look it yet but thankfully she has some time to fix that, I have business with the managers, you have till I return to look better."

"What are you doing with André and Firmin?" Christine asked, mentally begging him to let her go.

"Those fairies need a patron." Christine opened her mouth.

"Yes I know they're Aunties or else you and I have never fucked – we both know that's not true so I'm right." _I wish it wasn't._ Their past 'love making' was sickening her yet.

"Raoul, you hate the opera."

"Yes, but I love the image it gives me and I get to screw any and every one in the company. Especially you Christine." He drug his fingertips down her cheek, she tried to ignore the bile in her throat. _Go away, please go away!_ She begged.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes, there will be lots of reporters there so I mean hot." And he was gone. Christine hugged herself, but couldn't stop the tremors.

"Insolent boy! This slave of fashion basking in your glory!" It was Erik's voice, but Christine hand never heard him so angry, it was terrifying, his low voice truly sounded evil. She couldn't take another angry voice, not meanness from the man she felt utterly safe with. Raoul had found her again. Fear and exhaustion brought her to her knees, begging at the mirror. She had to get away.

"Angel of Music! Guide and Guardian!" she sang out in an unknown tune as tears began to fall and her body shook of its own accord. "Don't let him take me! He'll kill me! His eyes will fine me here! Those eyes that burn. Angel of Music, my protector… come to me strange angel…" sobs soon took her.

He couldn't bear to see her cry, little body shaking like a fall leaf in a November wind. These were no crocodile tears no one could put their body in such shakes mentally; this was a break down of the heart. The mirror slid silently and he gathered her in his arms, lifting her easily. She turned in his arms and buried her face in his neck. She was getting tears and make up all over his shirt but he didn't care, he could smell her soft scent. The smell of… her. It had clung to him after their lessons and it would be with him forever. Every lilac would remind him of her. He maneuvered the labyrinth easily despite her body; he wondered how much she was eating. He'd never carried a woman, but he doubted they should be as light as she was.

Christine soon shed every tear her body could and she fell limply against his hard chest, nose still in his neck. He smelled good, like sandalwood, fire, and safety. And he felt good; his broad shoulders were just the beginning of his physical wonderfulness.

Erik stood her up against him long enough to open his Bentley's passenger door. He got her tucked inside securely before heading around to the driver's side and started the car. Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom filled the car. For a time there was silence, save for Michael and Sarah.

"I'm sorry about that." Christine said quietly now embarrassed. Erik pulled the car onto the busy New York streets.

"You don't have to apologize." He told her gently.

"I cried all over you while you carried me down stairs and stuff. You didn't have to do that."

"I heard everything, I think I did. And you were no trouble; I lugged heavier books in college."

"You heard everything?"

"Everything." He confirmed.

"You must think I'm a terrible person for ever being with a person like that." Tears began anew. Erik reached out and took her hand in his. His thumb brushed her knuckles gently.

"I could never think badly of you Christine." He told her softly and truthfully.

"You've got to be wondering why I was ever with him." She said grimly.

"It's not my place to judge." He replied.

"You deserve to know the truth, Erik, you've done more than…"

"It was nothing Christine." He cut her off.

"It was something to me." She finally said a little annoyed. _Take my gratitude damnit._ "Raoul has been haunting me for years." She took a deep breath and began, Erik still holding her hand.

"I met him in college, I was twenty, he was a few years older and very rich and very popular. Men wanted to be him, girls wanted to be with him. Out of all the girls more beautiful than I, he still picked me. I was flattered, I was star – struck, he made me feel special, beautiful, told me he loved me." She took a breath, Erik squeezed her hand. It pained him to hear her talk about another man, but if it drained the pain he would handle it. "My life was great; my mother's relatives began liking me because I was with such a rich man with an old, influential family. But peace and heaven didn't last long. Raoul got jealous easily, he would get angry if I studied – when I wasn't spending every second of my time doting on him, being his girlfriend was my only job, my only life. When I didn't do as he liked he'd get angry." Erik ground his teeth, if that bastard… "It started with yelling and isolation, it moved to grabbing me, shaking me, throwing that which offended him. I manipulated my life to better suit his mood and he still left me. He left me for another man. My world rocked again, I spent a year with him, and it took me almost two to erase him. My French family once again disowned me, only my mother's cousin still writes – usually a Christmas card. I graduated and Raoul cam crawling back repentant as a pilgrim. I took him back. I didn't know what else to do. The cycle started again, this time the violence was war and the antebellum was short. He'd…" she couldn't say He'd hit me and she couldn't even lead into saying He'd force himself on me. "After he screwed me up again he ran off with another woman, leaving her for a man, him for another, another for me. Again I took him back, this time too scared to turn him down. By this time I was twenty – six." She paused. "I ran away from him. I packed my things, sold the rest and ran. I didn't stop running until I got here. And now he's found me again." Christine's tale was at an end. Erik let out a breath but his rage did not go with it. Christine was an angel, who could do that to an angel, his angel. It hit him like a sucker punch. Christine was his angel; he was falling in love with her. He would fight for her protect her. He'd never felt this way before. They were silent for the rest of the drive. Erik's house was an urban mansion in the aloof Upper East Side. He pulled into his own garage, so strange in the city.

"Welcome." He said helping her out of the car and into the grand house.

"How was the op – Oh!" A woman's voice asked, then stopped at the sight of Christine. _Married? Oh it figures! _Christine's brain remorsefully cried.

"The opera was lovely I'm happy to say, far better than usual Cecilia." Erik said pleasantly to the woman who appeared. She was small, shorter than Christine and thin as a rail, gone lean and wiry in her age. Her hair was mousy and back in a short French braid. She was looking worriedly at Christine.

"Oh!" Erik just noticed. "This is Christine Daaé, the opera's new Prima Donna. Christine, this is Cecilia Horner, my house keeper." Relief flooded Christine, housekeeper, not heart keeper.

"You'll probably want a bath to get that make up off you." Cecilia said kindly, though the look she gave Erik was anything but. "And then something to eat, you must be all tuckered out after the show." Christine's stomach growled she'd forgotten that nerves kept her from eating anything but a sleeve of saltine crackers and green tea.

"Thank you very much." She said weakly making the woman think she was in a worse state than she was. The older woman sat to work, clucking like a mother hen the whole way. Erik smiled before heading to his own room to change.

Erik had barely fastened his pants when Cecilia burst through his bedroom door.

"You've got some explaining to do Erik," she told him ominously. Erik put his sweater and mask on before he replied.

"I'm not sure what you want explained. How is Christine?" He said sitting on the edge of his bed to find his slippers.

"Don't play dumb with me I know you're too smart. I'm asking you about her."

"I asked you first." He said crossing his left foot to his right knee making a square.

"No, I did when I asked you to explain." Cecilia crossed her arms across her scrawny chest.

"Her name is Christine, she's the lead at the opera and she's had a bit of a night." He told her simply.

"Are you the cause of this 'bit of a night'?" she believed that Erik was a good boy but she knew his temper. She was Marie Giry's sister, it would take a trained eye to notice it but they were. Both women were like mothers to him. Both knew him far too well.

"No, I haven't done a thing to her. An old acquaintance" He couldn't say 'boyfriend' "gave her a scare so I brought her here. How is she?"

"Taking a nice hot soak right now." Cecilia said softening. "I knew you weren't to blame." Erik smiled, accepting the apologetic statement, standing he asked,

"Need any help in the kitchen?"

Christine's skin was already raw but she kept scrubbing, trying to get Raoul off of her, but she had years of him on her; there was no way it'd all come off. But she kept scrubbing. Erik was too good to her, far too good to her. He taught her to sing, befriended and supported her, he had carried her tears and all and was offering his home to her. And she still had Raoul on her. She just wanted to cry, but she had no more tears to shed. _Out, damn spot! Out I say!_ She couldn't rid herself of him, no matter how hard she tried. _All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand!_ She tossed the washcloth beside her with a loud splat as it hit the water open. Sinking into the quickly cooling water she gave up hope.

"Christine, Honey, soup's ready if you're alright in there."

"I'll be out in a second, thank you." She replied hauling herself out of the tub. She had been so happy to find the female voice was a housekeeper's, a woman close to his mother's likely age. For unknown reasons she needed him to be single, it was a need deep in her chest, in her core, in her heart. Her heart. There was an organ neglected if you could do such a thing. She dried off and got dressed in her street clothing, she had nothing to tie her hear back, her clip was forgotten on the vanity, thus wet, waist length like a curtain of curls she let her hair go.

Erik could only do so much in the kitchen and none of it was close to getting his mind off the woman in his bathroom. And not even the atomic bomb could get her out of his head when she appeared.

Cecilia observed with delight as her employer's 'friend' downed three bowls of soup, she was far too skinny. This was the Christine her sister and niece raved about, this was the dink of the girl they worried about, and this was the woman Erik would address when he was alone in his study thinking no one was listening. Cecilia loved when the pieces fit.

Christine found that the best place for her eyes to be was the bottom of her soup bowl. It was easiest way to eat, first of all, and she was hungry, the butterflies had left leaving her stomach empty. Also by focusing on eating her soup she wouldn't focus on eating Erik, who looked delicious in her casual faded jeans, a washed soft cashmere sweater. He was too attractive for his own good. Even his mysterious mask was attractive. Oh if only she didn't have her baggage, if only there was no Raoul – not in her soul, not in her world. The other viewing option was Cecilia, who with every second seemed more and more familiar, more like,

"Marie." It slipped off her tongue, she gasped and began apologizing Cecilia began laughing,

"Not even my husband gets my name right, dear, though I think he does that on purpose." Erik made a sound that seemed to say 'ya think'. "Marie is my sister."

"You're Aunt Cece?" Christine exclaimed as the light bulb in her head came on. Erik and Cecilia chortled at her excitement. "I've heard so much about you."

"And I you, my dear." Cecilia said motherly. Christine's eyes got even bigger as she looked at Erik.

"And you're the hermit business genius she works for. We always thought you were middle aged, balding, overweight, with forty thousand cats!" At this Erik threw his head aback and laughed outright and throatily.

"As you can see I am not, are you disappointed?" He replied once he finished laughing, then catching his breath. _How could anybody be disappointed with you?_ Christine mentally asked him. From where she sat he was magnificent, she didn't even notice the mask, she was far beyond that. A meow cut off her reply, Erik bent to pick up the noise maker. He straightened with a cat cradled in his arms; it was black, except for a little tuft of white with attitude atop its head.

"I'm not up to forty thousand, but I do have one cat. This is Ayesha." He lovingly stroked the cat's dark head, it meowed again. For that second she wished she had been born a cat. That cat to be exact. To have those gorgeous hands stroke her, she'd be more than willing to trade in her opposable thumbs for a collar. She was suddenly very aware he was looking at her; it was her turn to say something. She licked her very dry lips with her sudden cotton tongue and thought quickly.

"I'm glad." She said finally, "I like cats but forty thousand is a little excessive. I think two Figaros would be the death of me." She smiled and nothing was amiss.

"Figaro?" Erik asked interest peaked here was another reason to love the woman at his table.

"My cat, he's a calico, although he thinks he's a tiger on a never ending hunt to destroy every pair of socks I own." The kitchen was full of laughs, more than he could ever remember. Cecilia and her husband James were fun, lively people, but with Christine everything seemed right in his home not just his house.

"Named after the Barber of Seville?" Cecilia asked pulling her light frame up to sit on the marble counter.

"Bugs Bunny actually." She said, Erik took the chair next to her, letting Ayesha roam free yet again.

"Bugs Bunny?" He questioned, a little worrisome for the Opera Diva to say.

"Yes. One of my earliest memories was Saturday morning cartoons with my mother" she began adding in a soft voice. "Before she died" back to normal volume "My favorite was when Bugs would do opera. Oh I loved it, I tried to do it, there's a tape of me at five doing my best baritone, God awful thing." She had buried the video with her father. "For my fifth birthday Papá took me to see it for the first time. It was much better than the cartoon. It was then that I fell in love with opera."

Christine couldn't remember a better time than the one she was having with Erik in his home. It was almost enough to make her forget the horrors of old that had driven her there in the first place.

James Horner, Cecilia's husband and Erik's business associate, had arrived and the four had sat in Erik's kitchen for hours talking and laughing – like a family. Never in all his life had he felt more a part of something than he did at tat moment. At that moment everything was perfect.

His mental reattachment parents left at the first signs of Christine's tire. She had every right to be, it was well past one on opening night, plus the emotional battle that had been Raoul. He walked her to his guest bedroom next door to his.

"Give me a second and I'll get you something else to sleep in." he told her. She was in a turtleneck, jeans, and heels – not sleeping garb.

"Don't bother, I'll be fine, you've done for more than more than enough."

"The only thing you'll be is hot and uncomfortable." She made to object again but he cut her off. "Let me do this." He told her before disappearing into his room.

She took the tuxedo shirt and flannel pants gratefully noting the shirt to be the one she had first saw him wearing. They made their good nights and retired.

41


	8. Act One Scene Six

Act One; Scene Six

A Guest Room in Erik Destler's Home

"_Little Lottie," his voice rang in her heard like a menacing soundtrack of evil that she couldn't escape. He was stalking her, making her twist and turn like a puppet on a string. She was caught in his trap and couldn't get away. Before her eyes, memory after memory marched. Every verbal and physical blow, every unwanted touch; vision after vision after vision. All the time her father's once kind, loving words were twisted against her, used against her._

"_Little Lottie. Little Lottie. Little Lottie. Little Lottie." His voice said over and over again. _Make it stop!_ For the love of God make it stop! The pain of the words mixed with the pain of her scar. Suddenly in real time, with real pain and emotion she relived that night. The cut of the bottle, the pain, him, the blood. All the blood._

"_Little Lottie." There was blood everywhere. "Little Lottie." She screamed. It made the voice stop; all she could do was scream._

"Christine!" Her eyes flew open at Erik's voice, through her tears she could make out his white mask, shining like a beacon of hope at the end of her mind's dark tunnel. She was not in hell or Minnesota, not with him. Her hand flew to her neck, the thin scar was still there telling her she had been with him but not any more. Out of relief she began to cry anew.

"Christine." Erik said again gathering her into his arms and holding her close. She clung to him for the second time in twenty four hours.

He had woke at her shriek and dashed to her side before he thought about propriety of clothing. But when he found her screaming and sobbing lying huddled in the fetal position he stopped caring about weather or not he had a shirt on. Picking her up in his arms, he held her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and stroking her long, still damp hair. 'Sometimes a person just needs to be held.' He remembered Cecilia and Marie telling him as they helped him through his own night terrors. This was one of those times.

Electricity was being pumped through her body, the tingle and the hum could power all of New York, her angst couldn't drowned out her new found lust as he held her to his bare chest. His strong bare chest… his scarred bare chest. Her lust couldn't drown out the heartbreak as her nimble fingers found every mark. He kissed her hair and love concurred all.

"It was just a dream." He told her gently.

"An old all too familiar dream." She replied regaining composure. She remained in his arms, curled to his chest nestled to his neck. It was then in this position that he realized the hand he hand on her leg was her leg. She wasn't wearing the pants he gave her; she wasn't wearing pants at all. Now was not the time for the awkward lust he was feeling. But damn, she wasn't wearing pants. It made sense, he was about six five she wasn't close to five six, she'd swim in the pants. But he still couldn't get past her not wearing any.

His skin was warm, she could feel it through the shirt every place they touched. His arms were strong as they held her and the world was at peace. In his embrace, life was good.

He was far too afraid to move the hand on her leg, this constant touch was strong enough, but to move it would be intimate and that'd be worse. His other hand, his non leg hand could move, and he used it to rub her back in soft circles. She made a small moan of content that tore through him like Taz from toons. For the love of God, he could not get an erection, as much as he'd love to he couldn't – she'd feel it and it'd kill him with embarrassment.

She felt like a little girl in his arms, but she couldn't feel him stir under neither her and suddenly she was a woman. Raoul had pressed that organ against her in every way and she knew the feel very well. It'd never been an organ of pleasure before but there was something about this – him that told her it could be that things could be different. She nuzzled his neck more and ever so slightly trailed her lips against the column. She wanted to forget, he could erase the past form her mind. It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to her, but life wasn't fair.

His blood pressure went through the roof; it was surging fast and furious everywhere, especially where it shouldn't. He wouldn't be surprised if she could hear it.

The way his pulse raced made her stop her actions. It wasn't fair to begin with, but now it wasn't nice. She felt like a whore. He was so good and she was tempting a saint in a most unpure way. God, she was worthless. He should just leave her. But oh she didn't want him to go. She shifted, resting her head on his shoulder far away from his neck, as pure as she could be in his lap.

"Would you stay with me please at least until I fall asleep?" she asked in a little girl's voice. Erik chided himself, she was broken and he was erect. He was a pig.

"I will stay until you tell me to go" He told her, heartfelt and warm. Christine breathed deep of his scent and sighed contently. He began to sing softly,

"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses." His voice rich and warm transfixed her; each note rang through her body to resonate in her very core. "Slowly gently, night unfurls its splendor, grasp it, sense it – tremulous and tender, turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light – and listen to the music of the night…" she hummed in harmony with him as he nuzzled her hair. "Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before! Close your eyes, let your spirit start to sour! And you'll live as you've never lived before," _Forget Raoul and get some sleep_. He thought, with the next verse he moved and arm under her bare legs while the other wrapped around her shoulder lifting her to tuck her back in. "Softly, deafly, music shall surround you, Feel it, hear it, closing in around you, Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you cannot fight – the darkness of the music of the night." He pulled the covers to her chin and kissed her eyelids before making to leave, she was probably asleep. He was wrong as her small hand caught his larger one. Pulling at the other side of the bed's sheets, she whispered,

"I haven't said 'go'." He blinked – stay with her – in bed? How could he deny her or himself? Slowly he made his way around the bed to the offered side.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take your where you long to be! Only then can you belong to me…" He slipped 'tween the sheets, desperately wanting to reach for her but holding back with all he could. She turned and reached for him.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation! Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write – the power of the music of the night…" Pillowed on his shoulder and across his chest, wrapping in his arms she drifted off to sleep. Before Hypnos came for him to join her he said to the dark room, and to her ethereal sleeping form;

"You alone can make my song take flight – help me make the music of the night…" both found peaceful, dreamless sleep with each other.

Fingers of light caressing her face with morning woke her first. She didn't open her eyes through not wanting the moment to end. This man was an angel. Her angel. She must've done something right to be with him. Eventually though she had to get up, carefully tangling him she managed not to wake him. Before getting around and leaving to let him sleep in peace. She gazed at his beautiful body in his relaxed state, drinking in what she had felt last night. His bare chest was very… nice, lightly toned with a dusting of hair, it was just plain nice to look at. It lacked the deep scares she had felt on his back and she wondered briefly at that before her eyes wondered lower on his body. His sleeping pants were like the ones he'd lent her, except they fit him correctly. His feet were bare, one was poking out from under the blankets even his feet turned her on. She brought her eyes back up to his face banishing thoughts of the flesh from her mind. She'd tucked him in and then get cleaned up, or make him breakfast or something to pay back just an iota of his kindness. That mask could not be comfortable; she knew that even her ribbon was scratchy when she slept in it; a mask had to be torture. She also knew people hid things for a reason. _But if I close my eyes, I can keep his privacy and get the thing off of him. I won't look._ Closing her eyes she carefully lifted it from his face. The second it was off him, allowing air to touch him he was awake and enraged. His fierce cry made her eyes spring open and the mask fall to the ground.

"DAMN YOU!" He roared livid, the fiery hate in his eyes made her crumple. That was Raoul's fury, not Erik's. Not her Erik. But it was Erik. Erik was screaming at her, hating her like Raoul. He was like Raoul. She began to cry anew, now hurt and afraid. She curled into a protective ball.

Erik was blinded by his anger, it was white hot and all he could see, feel, sense, the pain and madness was all there was. How DARE she touch his mask! Lull him into false hope before crushing everything with that evil action. How DARE she?!

"You little prying Pandora! You little daemon – is this what you wanted to see?" He spat pointing at the right side of his face. "Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little viper – Damn you! Curse you!" He began to shake from the violent exertion as his senses returned. Once the sound of this heart and breathing was out of his ears he was able to hear the world around him. He could hear Christine's hiccupping sobs caused by his violent mood. His mask was forgotten as he looked upon the scene _he_ had caused. An abusive lover was what had drove her to him in the first place and now here he was doing the same thing, he was no better than her past, in many ways he was worse. That single thought brought him to his knees beside her on the floor. _My God, my God._ Was all he could think. He lightly touched her back, she cowered and skidded from his touch, it was as if she had slapped him. No that was preferable, he knew physical blows, he knew how to handle the pain but this, this he didn't know how to handle this new pain. He began to cry as well.

"Christine, Christine." He whimpered brokenly. That was not the voice of the violent. Christine knew a man's 'angry' voice and what was calling her name could never in a million years be a voice of a mad man. Timidly she rolled over to look at him. Her heart broke as she found him shuddering and sobbing in a position like her own, apology on his quivering lips.

"Oh Erik." She gathered him into her arms, like he had her the times before. He sobbed into her hair and neck.

"I'm sorry." Over and over again.

"Sh, sh, shhh…." She held and calmed him.

"Everything's alright, everything's fine." She told him soothingly.

"No it's not!" he sobbed, "I'm a terrible person no… no better than… than…" He couldn't say the name.

"Raoul?" she asked quietly.

"Yes!" he wailed.

"Erik what ever the rest of your name is DON'T YOU DARE COMPARE YOURSELF TO HIM! EVER!" her flair of anger silenced him mid cry. He blinked, now she was angry. Slowly he pulled back to look at her. As soon as he got where she could see her eyes, her beautiful eyes closed. She couldn't bear to look at him; he felt lower than before, now he was too low for zero.

"I make you sick." He was saddened but bitterly unsurprised; his own mother didn't even love him. She gasped but didn't open her eyes.

"No! I just know… those who wear masks have things they don't wish people to see." She was shielding her eyes out of respect, yet why had she taken his mask in the first place? He asked,

"It didn't look comfortable to sleep in, I figured you'd sleep better without it and I wasn't going to be in to make you uncomfortable so I…" Her blush was beautiful, she was beautiful. He was a gargoyle and an ass.

"Christine, I'm so sorry." He apologized again. "Look at me."

"Is your mask on, I don't want to make you give a show out of guilt." She was so sweet.

"It wouldn't be fair to you if it were. Now it is your call, if you wish to see me I will show you." He told her, praying she wouldn't scream or faint or the like when she looked at him.

'If you're sure." She said before slowly opening her eyes. She took him in, but showed no expression. She looked at him the same without the mask as she did when he had it on.

"See the beast I keep caged?" he said softly, sadly.

"Beast?" she questioned. "I don't see a beast. You have every feature of a man." She reached up to touch his face, shocking him. Willingly she would touch him.

Erik's skin changed texture as she ran her fingertips of her left hand over his forehead. Where his mask sat day after day his skin was a shade lighter and rougher, calloused from the wear. The side that didn't suffer the mask was smooth and warm.

"You have a forehead like a man." She said. He thought himself a beast, and he thought she'd agree with him. How to show him that was the furthest thing from the truth. She traced his face, the disfigured side.

"Your ears are human, your jaw." She said they were identical to the other side of his face, although his jaw did lack the stubble of morning that the left side had sprouted.

"You have two eyes like everyone else," he barely had a right eyebrow and lashes were sparse but the right eye was just as beautiful as the left. "Let's see" she ran her finger along his nose making a small circle at the end. "You have a nose, not a snout or a trunk, just as nose." The right of it was fused to the cheek bone, further up the sometimes common bump of the nose was more pronounced on the right, like that side had been broken. She moved her fingers to his lips, they and his cheek bone were large and lacking a better word, 'Bumpy'. On the left his lips were normal but as his face went right they widened until they were puffy making his mouth look like a sideways heart. His cheek bone had a sort of wave to it like the center was gone. She traced it all, not finding it horrid or scary at all. He had her pity, not because of how he looked, but for how he must've been treated because of how he looked. She pitied him for suffering the hate and ignorance that put him in a mask and that terrified him when he was out of it. No wonder he had scars, people could be so curl.

Erik could not wrap his head around what was going on. She wasn't hating him, wasn't hiding from him. She was touching him and regarding him just as before.

"I've found nothing beastlike about you." She told him, she gave him a slight unsure smile, like she was timed about her next words, "I'm rather disappointed, you pegged yourself scarier than you are." He burst out laughing; he couldn't explain or stop himself he just laughed. She wasn't afraid, she wasn't afraid. There was a God!

She was so happy her joke went over well; she was regretting it as she said it but this response was erasing her doubt. He stood as the laughter turned to chuckles and he offered her his hand to pull her up.

"Come." He said getting her to her feet "We must eat and get ready to return. Meg and Marie must be worried sick, and they'll baby you and you'll be late, then those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."


	9. Act One Scene Seven

Act One; Scene Seven

The Giry/ Daaé/ Darby Loft

"Where the hell have you been?" George and Meg chorused at her the second she was in the door, they then embraced her tightly.

"Don't ever do that again!" George threatened.

"Where in the world have you been hiding?" Meg asked looking at her friend with guilt and worry in her big brown eyes.

"I slept in my dressing room. A little stiff but I'm fine." Christine told them, weaseling out of their arms.

"Really? 'Cause this rich bitch came by looking for you. Very demanding." Meg said, like a Bolshevik she hated the bourgeois. Christine groaned, she knew Raoul would look for her. She sat heavily.

"I'm so sorry about him guys."

"Who is he?" George asked, her distress was etched in her face, and he didn't like it at all.

"His name is Raoul de Cheney." Christine said. "An ex I'd like to forget." George and Meg understood without fuss.

"We'll make sure you do." George said kindly.

"That doesn't explain where you were last night; we checked your dressing room when we couldn't find you to go home." Christine thought of a lie quickly.

"I was hiding from Raoul, I knew he knew where my dressing room was so I didn't stay there, I avoided people till I figured there was no one left, then I fell asleep." They bought it.

"You should get some actual sleep before call or you're going to die tonight." Meg said sympathetically. Christine didn't need to be told twice and she retreated to her room.

Raoul was frustrated. Christine, the little bitch, had left him hanging. He was so worked up that he took home the first thing that had two legs, a whole and a pulse. Carlos hand been an anger fuck, afterwards he was pissed, but satisfied. She wasn't going to get away with that. Nobody stood him up, nobody turned him down. He would teach her a lesson well about that.

Erik couldn't focus enough to write a note, he was angry beyond coherence. How did she come up with her logic on masks? There was a melancholy about her and despite tears shed and her wild hair here was something about her neck, he couldn't make out the details but the thought angered him. He swore to himself as he dressed for the evening that he would protect her.

The madness of the stage took her mind off the madness of her life. The opera went smoothly and with Meg and George's help exiting after the show. Their security was so tight Erik couldn't get to her but he was glad she was safe, and she did get his rose, for the night he was satisfied with seeing her.


	10. Act One Scene Eight

Act One; Scene Eight

The New York Opera House, Backstage after a performance of 'Hannibal'

Saturday, despite the escort, was a success, no Raoul. No Erik. Pretty much on men. Sunday she wasn't as lucky, George got a job; hooray for their bank account but Raoul could smell an opening.

"Christine Daaé did you know I went to a party by myself?" He burst into her dressing room like a fridge wind. Christine tried to remain calm as she took off her make up, but her hands were shaking.

"I highly doubt that." She sounded pulled together, thank God. He laughed a harsh sound.

"How well you know me, actually I picked up a Twinkie and we fucked instead of working the red carpet. But don't think for a second I'm happy about missing a photo op." Christine tied her red ribbon around her neck, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

"I'm sure you took pictures, they just can't be published in the papers. At least and keep in the family."

"You wound me." He said coldly. "But since we're going to dinner, you little shrew, you can make up for it." He was persistent.

"No Raoul! I – I…" She needed an excuse stat!

Erik had spent his time behind her mirror just in case she needed him. He was mixed on what he saw. The second night little Meg Giry and her boyfriend marched her around like she was Hannibal Lector; he didn't get to speak to her at all. At least she got his rose. At first it was just the boyfriend alone in her room and jealous green anger filled Erik. He had no claim to her, other than his love. Which was ridiculous in itself, he didn't know her well enough to love her. But he did. And when his love was threatened he would act.

"No Raoul! I – I…" she was floundering, eyes big. He acted.

"She's already spoken for." He announced from behind the mirror. Christine hoped he knew what he was doing. Raoul's icy eyes flared.

"Spoken for? I hear a voice but where's the body?" Raoul advanced on her.

"Who are you?" Raoul addressed Erik.

"I am her…" What could he say?

"Angel of music." Christine said for him. "Remember my Angel?" Raoul looked around her room frantically. Erik slipped out and surprised the ex. Raoul, usually steely calm jumped. Erik smiled evilly.

"I said 'spoken for'" He said firmly enjoying his power.

"Who the hell are you?" Raoul was back to normal, a little angry but composed. Christine rounded up all her stuff, 'flight' beating fight.

He really wanted to say 'your worst nightmare' but restrained himself. Christine took his hand. For a second the world melted away except for the feeling of her hand in his, it was a simple gesture with tons of meaning. He looked down in her eyes and she looked back up at him. But Raoul, while he managed to bring them together every time also ruined everything.

"What the FUCK?!" Raoul didn't like being ignored. _We're in a theatre, let's act. Play along with me._ Her eyes seemed to say. Erik was good off the cuff.

"Ready for dinner, _mon ange_?" She smiled God he loved that smile.

"If you are."

Raoul was, for the first time in his life, speechless. Christine and Erik took the chance and flounced out of the room. _Oh shit!_

"Now what?" She asked him. The lead of the opera was walking around with the opera ghost – who didn't exist, after just turning down a very rich, very interested ex lover. The world was spinning off the axis; they had seconds before they flew off into the unknown.

"We… TURN HERE!" He pulled her quickly into the shadows, holding her tight against him. They had to be conspicuous despite the hiding in the shadows, every place they touched fireworks went off. _I don't know what is going on Can't work it out at all Whatever made you choose me I just can't believe my eyes You look at me as though You couldn't bear to lose me__1_ She could just swoon.

Erik was trying his best to formulate a way out but his best was loosing badly. Christine was clouding his senses. His mind was powering down. The sent of her hair, her hands wrapped around his back, the swell of her chest against his, his hands on the flare of her hips. All of this was more for his brain than escape. However if he ever wanted anything like this again they needed to move.

The coast was clear, from their hiding place deep in the shadows they were able to see Raoul take off in a tantrum. Taking the opportunity they bolted for her dressing room and hid behind the mirror.

"Raoul is pissed." Christine lamented. "And he knows about you. Oh this is bad…"

"Don't worry." He told her, she just looked at him, it was the first time he saw fear in her eyes.

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"And he doesn't know what I'm capable of." He replied Erik knew how to take care of himself.

"But he's seen you. Your reputation."

"I'm not real here, just a joker in the company as for the mask – this is New York, it's the mildest thing you'll see all day."

"But…." She protested.

"Christine, don't worry about it. Call Meg, let's get that diner we lied about."

"But… are you…"

"Yes!" Raoul had crushed her confidence.

"Alright." She pulled out her cell phone.

_Roses are red booger's are green please leave your message on this stupid machine_

"'Allo Megster, I'm not going to be in my dressing room, I'm going out to dinner. Don't know when I'll be home, but my phone will be on." She hung up and smiled.

"If you're sure." He helped her with her jacket.

"Stay close, the path can be tricky." He lead her down the narrow stair, lit only by a few and far between bulbs.

"Where are we going?" She asked, stumbling. Erik took her hand and they continued down the path, now well lit with the tingle of their contact.

"My car." He was proud of his snarkiness in the face of jello knees and cotton tongue. The things she did to him.

"Then where?"

"How does the Hunt Club sound?"

"The Hunt Club?" It was one of the biggest, trendiest, famoustest places of New York. He would pass; this opera outfit was a black suit, shirt, and red tie – striking. She had on a black knit shirt, jeans and a ribbon. Her hair was a mess and remnants of make up still hung on her features.

"Yes, the Hunt Club, is that a problem?"

"YES! Look at me, I can't go there looking like this!" He paused and looked her up and down; to him she looked fine – beautiful as always. But he supposed she would object, women were puzzles.

"Not a problem, I have a connection for you."

"Alright." She allowed him to lead her on. They were silent for the rest of the walk, enjoying the closeness.

In the car, his sound system wove Sarah Brightman's voice around them.

Erik drove to the back door of some building in the fashion district and parked. Christine had no idea where she was, having only been in New York two years there were many things she still didn't know. Erik knocked on the unmarked back door. He really did have fantastic hands.

"Erik!" A burst of energy threw open the door and it took Christine a second to focus on what the dazzling array of colors, sounds, and energy was. It was a man; somewhere between her petite stature and Erik's Goliath with skin like mocha and an amazing smile, he ushered them in.

"Erik, it's been too long, how are you; you look stunning by the way. What can I do for you?" Erik smiled, this was another of the few he felt comfortable with.

"Thank you. I am quite well. I have someone I'd like you to meet. Hector Ramón this is-"

"Christine Daaé?! Is it truly?" He bowed. "The world is a buzz about you my dear and I must agree. I am a fan." A fan, she never had one that wasn't related to her or a roommate. She smiled shyly, not used to the praise. And it was coming from Hector Ramón, he as the designer behind HARC! (Hector A. Ramón Clothing), a brand she all but lusted after.

"Thank you, the feeling is mutual." She was prod of her composed response, so was Erik, she could see it in his eyes and she felt even better about herself.

"You're a fan of you too?" He asked.

"No. She's a fan of _you_." Erik replied. Okay, so Hector didn't know his way around the English language, she didn't care, he knew his way around a woman's body like nobody's business.

"Right, right. Now what can I do for you my diva?" he smiled at Christine. "Maestro?" he turned to Erik.

"I would like to take Christine out but she felt she was not properly attired." Hector turned his eyes back to Christine and gave her a critical once over.

"For casual wear she looks gorgeous, but knowing where you like to eat she is right." He gave as a professional estimate. She smiled giddy. _He thinks I look good!_

"Erik, feel free." Hector waved around she followed his hand, they were in the back of the boutique. Hector turned to her and offered his arm. "You, my dear, come with me."

Hector led her to another back room, this one filled with women's clothing. Christine felt like a star. In the center of her dream closet was a stool Hector handed her up.

"Down to the undies, let's get some measurements." He said airily, turning around to look through a drawer. Christine felt her eyes get big. Hector turned around and noted her surprise and discomfort.

"One, you can't show me anything I haven't seen before. Two, as beautiful as you are – and that's pretty damn gorgeous, you're not my type – I only lust for you body to be in my clothing." She smiled and began to strip.

"Oh honey we need a full wardrobe over haul." Christine frowned and looked down. Nude, full coverage bra and matching granny panties.

"What?!" Hector just gave her a look and held out his arms, indicating for her to copy his pose.

"36C." he announced and instantly a guy in a pink ascot appeared with a clipboard.

"Uh, hello." She wasn't as uncomfortable as she was surprised.

"Don't worry darling." Hector waved again.

"I'm not." She said apparently unconvincingly.

"Sweetheart – pink ascot. 21."

"TWENTY ONE?!" every other thought flew out of her mind except that number being linked to her waist.

"36." Hector flipped the tape over his neck. Her eyes were big and so were the designer's.

"No way. Say it again!" she was ecstatic.

"36C – 21 – 36." Ascot boy said. "I want you."

"Max is my art director, he is also in charge of my models. And I don't want you… I need you." Christine could just faint.

"Are you weaving the fabric? I'd like to eat before midnight!" Erik called from the back sitting room where he parted with Christine. Time had stopped he was sure of it. Pacing alone made every second feel like an eternity.

"Destler, you should know more than any body else that _genius_ can't be rushed!" Hector yelled back. Erik smiled a little; Hector Ramón could put anyone in their place with one comeback. Sighing in defeat Erik slinked into the store. He had to get his mind off Christine. _Ha!_

"Can I ask one thing of you?" Christine began as she was led to the racks of her size clothing.

"That depends dear." Hector replied.

"I have a scar on my neck that I'd rather not showcase, could I keep my ribbon or do you have something high collared?" Hector looked critically at her ribbon.

"I have a fabulous pair of shoes that will go quite nicely with it, you're lucky. If you would've asked to keep your underwear I would not have been as nice."

"What are you going to do with my underwear?" she asked him.

"Burn it." The man's face was straight, voice deadpan.

"BURN THEM?" she exclaimed looking down again at her old, comfortable friends.

"They are an abomination." He pulled a dress off the rack. "And they won't work with this." Christine felt her mouth drop open. The beauty was in the simplicity as was all HARC designs and life. It was why she loved the brand so. This number was like onyx in color with subtle design in the bodice. The bodice was an off the shoulder corset, sexy and gothic but also sophisticated and in no way S&M. She loved it, something about the style made her feel so much. Exchange her underwear for that? She couldn't get the lingerie off fast enough. Hector laughed. Thankfully Max wasn't long with the new, non abomination undies. From naked as a Jay Bird to black lace, which was more risqué? Hector helped her into the dress and lacked her up. The sheath skirt went to her knees and was made of the most luxurious silk she'd ever felt. It was like she was wearing Erik's voice. Heaven! She was in Heaven!

"A little time on the hair." Max pulled the elastic from her hair and finger combed it. Curls fluffed and falling she took her red pumps with a velvet ankle bow and felt like a princess.

"Hot damn honey, you're going to give the old boy a heart attack." Hector proclaimed as he made her turn to view the finished product.

"I don't want that; I want him healthy and hearty." Christine said. _I just want him. Period._ The men laughed.

"Don't worry dear. If Erik died, he'd raise himself from the grave just to kill himself for dieing." Max said. Hector and Christine looked at him blankly. He threw up his hands. "It sounded better in my head." Hector smiled sarcastically.

"It always does. Now hot stuff we have quite the man to impress." _Do we ever._ Christine thought falling into place for the big reveal.

Erik sat jiggling his foot in time to an unwritten tune in his head. His long fingers playing his thigh like an organ. Hector and his Art director, Max, entered, Erik stood.

"Monsieur Erik." Hector spoke French with a Latino accent but Erik was too anxious to care. "I give you Melle. Christine." The men parted. There was no air in the room, her beauty took more than his breath away. She was a vision beyond words, too perfect for him by far. Her smile made him weak in the knees and he had to clear his throat to keep his voice from sliding up several octaves.

"Can we go now? I could've written a symphony in the wait." Humor. Humor was a wonderful defense. Christine laughed. That did not help. Humor. Humor was a bad idea.

"I will follow where ever you may go." Christine told him before turning to the HARC boys.

"Thank you ever so much." She said sincerely. Hector smiled and handed her his card.

"Call us, I do want you in my clothing." The pairs parted.

The Hunt Club specialized in after performance gourmet, so at nearly eleven the place was going strong. Erik pulled into a back lot and feeling like a million bucks he escorted Christine to the door.

"Erik, usual table?" Faber Hunt the owner himself greeted Erik as a dear regular.

"Yes, Thank you Faber." Erik replied ushering Christine inside.

"How was the opera tonight? I've heard nothing but good things." Faber asked not looking around to speak directly to them as he led the way to a private room.

"Why don't you take that up with the Diva?" Erik replied. Faber Hunt spun on his heel so fast he nearly tripped himself. Very funny for a man in a double breasted suit.

"Miss Daaé! It's an honor." She'd never had this much attention in her _life._

"Erik, you've _got _to stop paying people to flatter me." She said joking away the insecurities and swatting his arm. He smiled at her in that 'reduce – a – girl – to – nothing' sort of way.

"This my dear, is all _you_." She was beyond cloud nine.

The room was immaculately decorated with warm rich items; the focal point was a table for two with candles and several different forks. There was short Mexican standoff between the men over the seating of Christine but Erik soon won and handed her into the high back chair and pushed her in.

"I'll leave you two to the menu. It truly is an honor and a pleasure Ms. Daaé." And with that the host was gone.

"How do you know these people?!" Christine asked as soon as they were alone. Outside of the opera she'd never met one person who enjoyed it. Let alone two in the same night. Two high profile people no less.

"Ah, priorities, Christine, what do you want to eat?"

"I'm not that hungry, do you want to get dessert?" Christine said peeking at the menu. Twenty dollars for an appetizer?

"That's not very health." He scolded lovingly.

"I had dinner before the show Madam cooked a rib sticking meal. I'm surprised I fit in my costume. There, priority one done." She made a checkmark in the air. God, she was twitterpaitted. "Now, where did you meet these people? I mean Hector Ramón, we're in a private room in the Hunt Club. I go to the same Starbucks every week and they don't even smile at me!" Erik laughed. Man she loved making him laugh. He always looked so serious. The smile did wonderful things to him. The handsome side got even more attractive and the masked side became less cold.

"I do a lot of shopping from Hector who thinks my mask is a fabulous creative eccentricity. Faber hired me to design and build his newer club FABER. To him my mask hides an old injury. I do have some friends." He said in a mix of memory and deadpan.

"I never asked about friend quantity, but quality. Not only are they successful but cultured. Other tan George and Meg none of my friends knew opera. And they really don't count. Meg was raised in the theater and George is with her." Tension relieved.

"The red velvet is rally good, so is the German chocolate I can introduce you to a few more opera fans, not many but some."

"Thanks." She peeked down at the menu again. "Ooh, German Chocolate Ganash." She looked up and smiled. "I love Chocolate." _And I love you. _He thought. Faber returned filling the gap in conversation nicely.

"I'll have the usual." Erik said.

"And I'll have a slice of the German Chocolate Ganash and a cup of coffee." She handed Faber her menu.

"Room for anything?" he asked.

"Just more coffee." She said smiling. I'll be right back.

"Nothing in your coffee?" Erik asked casting around for conversation.

"I like it strong enough to stunt my growth. That's why I'm so short." Erik laughed. Things were back to normal.

"You're not short, just vertically challenged."

"Says the guy whose like seven feet tall."

"6' 5""

"5'2" and I stopped growing when I was thirteen." She pouted by playfully. "I remember I was sixteen and this little fourth grader asked if I had hit puberty yet. The nuns were more upset than I was, although I think that was over saying 'puberty' in a church. I just asked if he had learned a new word."

"Nuns? You're Catholic?" He asked. Faber returned with the food and drink. He then left.

"I was raised a very bad Catholic. Daddy sort of gave up on God and Church when Mom died, but he thought I should still go, it had some good points." She took her first bite of cake and moaned. "This is too good to be allowed."

"Do you still go?" Erik chuckled but her humor couldn't circumvent his interest.

"To church? I spent a lifetime there when Daddy was sick. That was enough for me." They both chewed for a while.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked. She swallowed and sipped her coffee before answering carefully.

"Not 'God' per say, but something bigger than I am… like the force. Yoda or a bearded guy I don't care; but some faith makes me feel safe. And you?" He took a bite of cake.

"It's hard to believe in God when you're told everyday you're the spawn of Satan." He was deadly serious and it made her painfully sad.

"You've always been an Angel to me." She told him quietly.

"An Angel?" He could scarcely believe his ears.

"My Angel of Music, Guide and Guardian. Grant to me your glory." She replied in song.

"You called me that earlier." Twice in fact. Once when she was afraid of Raoul and once when she was running away to dinner.

"When I was little and my mother had died Daddy told me that she would send an angel of music to me to comfort and guide where she could not, she couldn't come back from the dead. When you're five and scared it makes you feel better. I would never be alone with him with me. He became that invisible friend of childhood. I got older and realized he wasn't real, but became a sort of joke tween Daddy and I. My 'angel' sent me flowers after every performance. When Daddy died my Angel became my… well everything. My guide, my guardian, my sanity, my music." She stopped, she had said too much, but Erik wasn't caring. _You remember my Angel of Music, don't you Raoul?_ He was her angel. Was he all that to her, dare he hope? Quite. Dessert was finished. A waltz played on the sound system, Faber indulged his love of Classical music. He got up and walked to the wall with the equipment. Christine's pure blue eyes followed him. He turned the music up and then turned to her.

"Melle. Daaé may I have this dance?" He extended his hand to her. Her beautiful features lit up as she fit her small hand in his large one.

"I'd be honored Monsieur." She now completely understood Cinderella and the slipper. Erik was a perfect fit. He led her to an open space not taken up by table and chairs and drew her close for the dance. There were no words to describe the feeling of their bodies together. _I am in love and no one can blame me. Such is my story, such is my fate._ She looked up at him, he looked down at her. The world stopped turning, her heart skipped a beat. He dipped his head to reach her lips in a motion that took a life time. His lips were so close to hers she could taste his body heat; just a breath separated them _yes, Yes, YES!_ Christine's mind screamed.

_I'm your private dancer; dancer for money; I'll do what you want me to do._

Meg's ring tone shattered the moment. Erik pulled back so fast he probably gave himself whiplash. Christine couldn't think of strong enough words.

_I'm your private dancer; dancer for money…_

"Answer your phone Christine." Erik said flatly releasing her. Christine threw open her phone with almost enough force to break it.

"Damn it Meg!" Christine barked. She was _not_ happy and wasn't going to hesitate to show it.

"Whoa! Chris, what the hell? Your message was less than clear and I'm ignoring the shitty reception." Christine vented her frustration with exaggerated hand gestures and a posture tighter than a celebutant's pants.

"I'm on a date Meg, and it was just starting to get good." Her tone could slay thousands.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry Chris, it's just George and I were so worried, you wouldn't believe the hell that bitch was raising. Says you were abducted by an Angel of Music with a mask. The Phantom wears a mask… Oh MY GOD! Chris, are you with the Phantom?! Get away Chris, get away!" Meg was freaking out as only Meg could.

"I'm hanging up now and salvaging what's left of my night. Talk to you tomorrow." Christine slammed her phone shut, on her finger, it sort of ruined the mood but the little communication device got the message. She would kill the messenger. She turned back to Erik.

"Now where were we?" she ask trying to get the mood back.

"It's getting late, you need to sleep after the show. I'll take you home." He had completely shut off. His statement was as cold as the weather she felt frozen and helpless.

"Oh. Okay." Her voice was not her own. Erik took her long coat off the peg and helped her into it, except now the brush of his fingers sent chills straight to her tear ducts. For a time she HATED Meg. Erik signed the magically appearing bill and then led her back to her car with a firm hand was not happy silence. Sarah Brightman was singing _Pie Jesu_ from _Requiem_. It seemed like a death. A time later he cleared his throat.

"Where exactly do you live Christine?" He asked. She'd gone from sad to pissed and was temped not to tell him. But fear of making it was made her comply.

"Inwood." She said in a damn frail voice.

Erik felt like… what was lower than scum? He had almost kissed her, almost lost control of the one thing he couldn't let get away from him. He was almost ruled by his heart and for a man like him that was not good. He had scars from the last time he'd done that. But oh, she seemed to have wanted it too. _Don't even contemplate thinking about that! _Okay that didn't make any sense but he didn't care. He had to get her and… every thing about her out of his car so he could get his head on straight. Inwood was sod far, a blessing and a curse.

The quite gave Christine time to brood and scheme. She wasn't going to leave so unsatisfied. She was going to close the evening on a good note for her.

"Where in Inwood?" he asked, they were close.

"212 Doughty Blvd." She told him. She had to prep herself. _Kiss him and run like hell so you inner chicken doesn't have to see his reaction. _Yep, sounds like a plan.

Her building wasn't bad looking, large windows and nice brick work. The bulb on the front door was bare and security was nil, but he had seen much worse. He stopped in front of her stoop. Christine turned to him. A new tone in her soprano.

"Thank you for everything, Erik, I had a wonderful time and don't deserve the half of it." Erik turned to her, the moon and low watt bulb reflecting off his mask renewing her chutzpah.

"You deserve all this and more." She licked her crimson lips and took a breath.

"Good night Erik." She whispered and leaned forward until her lips brushed his. He was stiff and cold and didn't react for the beat she held the kiss for. Embarrassed at her gross miss calculation she pulled away and fumbled for the door handle, trying not to cry.

"I'll flash you when I'm in. See you … uh… later." She wasn't quick enough and her voice cracked, but she didn't care, her heels were on the pavement and she was running.

"Christine." Erik called. _Did she just kiss me? _"Christine!" _I blew it._ She returned and he got out and leaned against the door. Christine looked up at him as if to say, 'Yes?' The tears were quickly drying. He caressed her cheek hesitantly until he saw her full lashes flutter over her gorgeous blue eyes, he made his move. She didn't react for a second and in that moment he thought he was crazy, and then she kissed him back and he didn't think at all. When they finally separated for air (after a long time, air support was a blessing) he rested his forehead against hers.

"You should get inside its freezing." He said not meaning a word.

"In a minute." And she kissed him again.

"Either get back in the car or come up here but doing it out on the street is positively indecent!" Meg yelled hanging out the open loft window.

"Not to mention illegal!" George added joining his girlfriend half out the window.

"But it's damn interesting." That was Meg. Christine kissed Erik again as she flipped off her flatmates.

"I'll see you" Kiss "Tuesday?" Kiss. There was no rehearsal Monday as a break after the first weekend of shows.

"Yes, Tuesday. Now go explain to your friends."

* * *

1 Unexpected song, ALW, Sarah Brightman 


	11. Act One Scene Nine

Act One; Scene Nine

The Giry/ Daaé/ Darby Loft

Christine got up late Monday morning feeling like the living dead, she hadn't gotten to bed until well after midnight. However Meg was worse off than she, at the crack of noon she was still zonked. George had a job; thus Christine had a lot of free time. She sat on her bed with Figaro curled to her side and a book open, but unread in her lap. She couldn't focus on a single word. _I never thought I'd be here, is this really me? Am I dreaming? Seeing is believing, my life is just beginning! We touched and my head won't stop spinning._ Figaro grunted and switched positions.

"I'm not in love, I can't be. One, I don't know him well enough. Two I… I don't know how to love him. I've been changed, really changed. In these past few days when I've seen myself, I seem like someone else." Figaro looked at her. Christine groaned but since Figaro couldn't talk, he couldn't mock. "I don't know how to take this, should I scream and shout? Should I speak of love, let my feelings out? I have never felt like this, for once I'm lost for words." Her cat disagreed. "Shut up. His smile even throws me! This is not like me at all! I never thought I'd come to this, I never thought I'd know the kind of love he's shown me. I don't know what to do, can't work it out at all. If he said he loved me, I'd be lost, I'd be frightened, I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope. It scares me so – I want him so. I'm falling in love with him." Figaro got tired of the mush fest and flounced off. _Long lost feelings stir inside me, used to think nights were for sleeping._ She had slept like crap reliving the kiss again and again. She felt like a lady every time. _Now I'm alive, inside I'm growing, I'm how I want to be, loving him I can be me, just me. _No matter where she was, no matter what she did she saw his face appearing, ever since she first met him. There was something in his eyes, those chilly silver eyes that warmed when he looked at her, like he couldn't bear to lose her. _What ever made him choose me?_ Christine marked her page and closed the book there was no way she could focus on Alexis and Rose and George with her mind so totally distracted by other Aspects of Love. She was missing him. It was strong and realization was acute. Since the day they met face to face she'd had a dull ache in her chest. She'd try to pretend it was longing for the song but the song and him were tightly wound. Time without him drug on and time with him was painfully short. But in that time his every word rang thought her soul. _Love, love changes everything. Days are longer, words mean more. _Except for last night. Last night was the most perfect part of her life to date. _Love could make a night seem like a lifetime._ She got up, her mix CD was playing the same waltz as last night, closing her eyes she danced with him again. She had been completely twitterpaited all night and it was the most exquisite feeling. _Love bursts in and suddenly all our wisdom disappears. _She came to a realization as she danced. If you love someone you fight hard for the relationship. And she would. He felt like a hated monster and that she was a perfect angel. Neither idea was right, but Erik, _even thought we come from 'different sides' I won't hide. My love is stronger than their hate._ She relived the kiss in her head and sighed.

"I love you and hope you love me."

Under the same Manhattan sky was Erik. He sat in his music room composition book in his lap, mind in the past. Christine. _Christine. _He couldn't get her out of his mind even if he had a lobotomy. She was firmly rooted in his head and heart. Countless vivid memories span before his view, like a toy kaleidoscope images of her. Half a moment they were together and he would treasure the feeling forever, keep it locked away for some future rainy day. _Christine_ he sighed and looked down at the blank pad. _Love bursts in and suddenly all our wisdom disappears._ Only she had the power to move him, but nothing was worthy of her. He had tried to write her a song, but every attempt was now littering the floor around the overflowing recycling bin. _Christine_ he thought again, he trembled. _Love, love changes everything. Now I tremble at her name, nothing in the world will ever be the same._ These feelings were new and potent. Love changes everything. He was trembling, he was hot and cold, unlike himself. Happiness was as radiant as the sun, pain was deeper than before. He was dreaming both day and night, and it wasn't his old night terrors and there were no more dreams of love with one face missing. It was her, all her. He looked back down at his pad and scribbled.

_Love, love changes everything. Live or perish in its flame. Love will never, never let you be the same._

He tore the page off, crumpled it and threw it at the bin. Over thrown with emotion. The flames of love were consuming him but he wouldn't extinguish them for the universe.

* * *

_AN:_ I know, there is no excuse for lateness and forgetfulness but I'm late because I forgot that I hadn't updated. Just as a warning I'm not sure how much writing time I'll have, I'm on the school swim team and in the marching band as well as attending class, so I'll be pretty busy but I promise I'll work on this still. A big **Thank you** to DrusillaBroun, the first and thus far only reviewer, although my email tells mre a few have put this little tale on alert. A thank you to them as well.

 There are several ALW songs referenced in here. They are (in no particular order): Our Kind of Love (The Beautiful Game), Unexpected Song (Song and Dance), Half a Moment (By Jeeves), Last Man in My Life (Song and Dance), Only You (Starlight Express), Don't Cry for Me Argentina (Evita), I Don't Know How to Love Him (Jesus Christ Superstar)


	12. Act One Scene Ten

Act One; Scene Ten

The New York Opera, Second Week of 'Hannibal'

Since the show was running rehearsals happened on an every other day basis. Christine had spent her Monday off with Erik in her mind and she was high strung to be with him in person again. But first there was practice to deal with. Doing her best to focus she ran the show, fixing any kinks from the weekend.

"CHRISTINE LETITIA DAAE!" Raoul practically screamed as he grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him, he was livid. She had tried to walk past him, head down, pretending he wasn't there. It hadn't worked.

"Who was he? Who the fuck was he?" he growled, she tried to pull away but Raoul's grip got tighter. "Answer me! Did you fuck him? Yes, of course you did, you little whore! You don't know him and you fucked him-"

"Shut up Raoul." Christine said sharp as a sword and as cold as the far side of the moon. It was the first time she had defied him, his eyes got wide and then narrowed to slits. He pulled her towards the seldom used elevator. It was for patrons in wheel chairs and balcony seats but it went up past where any theatre goer went. He threw her in and slammed the top floor button.

"You belong to me Christine! Your chains are still mine!" He snarled and wrapped his hand in her hair and yanked her head back. He was going to posses her again. His kiss was more like a bite and he tore the sweater off her, she didn't want to know its state. Her pants came next. She had been in this position times before. It was easier, she found if she just laid back and showed nothing until it was over. It was what she did now. While he took care of his savage desires she went through her post Raoul plan. She still had part of her prescription for the morning after pill and rehearsal was over, she could go home and get cleaned up. Of course she had to see Erik. Erik, oh God, Erik. A tear slipped down her cheek, thankfully Raoul didn't notice. He was done shortly after. The elevator opened and he zipped up and left her. Christine hit the door close button and then the stop elevator one and began to dress. She couldn't face Erik. Thankfully her clothing was only wrinkled, no tares or anything. After getting as put together as she could she pressed the 'roof' button. Erik mentioned that it had a view to die for and was very good for thinking. He liked it. And if it was good enough for him, it was much better than she was. She stepped out onto the roof and found a place to sit, she began to cry.


	13. Act One Scene Eleven

Act One; Scene Eleven

The Roof of the New York Opera

Erik waited and waited for Christine in her dressing room. Rehearsals had ended over an hour ago, he had watched, Christine was perfect and now she was gone. He paced in her dressing room, confused and on edge. Sitting on the chair was her purse and coat. She couldn't go far without the both it was the coldest November the city had seen in years. He paced a little while longer. On a whim he put his coat on and headed through the mirror. He had told her about the roof during one of their lessons. He liked to think there, maybe, just maybe she'd be there.

He burst onto the roof and the chill was enough to such his breath away in a plum. He didn't see her at first but heard a sniffle. Christine was folded up against the elevator bump out. The tears were pouring down her face as she starred out into the sun over the city.

"Christine?" He asked softly not wanting to give her a start. He did anyway.

"Erik?!" she exclaimed, her eyes snapping back into focus.

"I thought I'd find you here." He said softly sitting down beside her, folding his long frame to match her posture. Fishing out his handkerchief he handed it to her with a gentle question.

"Are you alright?" she honked.

"I can't escape from him. His eyes will find me there, those eyes that burn…"

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, senses on edge, rage growing. He'd kill Raoul if he bent a single hair on her head. She shook her head and blew her nose again, folded the cloth over and wiped her eyes. She couldn't tell him what had happened, she was damaged goods, something he didn't deserve but she didn't want him to leave her. But he should she had been nothing but a damsel in distress that couldn't handle her own life. She shivered and he took off his large duster and draped it over her shoulders.

"What happened?" He didn't want to pry or be harsh; she had had a time as it was.

"He isn't happy about you at all. My chains are still his. I am still his." She said quietly on the verge of tears yet again. Erik pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried yet again on him. It had to be the fifth or sixth time but he didn't care.

"You are no one's but your own. He cannot have you, he cannot harm you." Erik told her.

"I can never escape from him."

"Yes you can, I will help you if you will let me." Erik was very serious; Christine pulled away and looked into his silver eyes.

"You shouldn't be with a girl like me…" She looked away. Erik took her chin in his hands and turned her head back to him.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you..." he sang gentle to her, she recognized the song. She couldn't bear the thought of a life without him, but she couldn't take the thought of bringing him pain.

"Say you love my every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime… Anywhere you go let me go to… love me, that's all I ask of you…" She replied, Erik moved to kiss her. She pulled back. That was where Raoul had been, she couldn't taint her angel with a daemon's kiss. "Say you need me with you, now and always… promise me that all you say is true – that's all I ask of you…" Erik took the cue a little confused.

"Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe, no one will find you – your fears are far behind you…" _if only you knew Erik._

"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night… and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me…"

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one life time… let me lead you from your solitude…" Erik got up and extended his hand to her. "Say you need me with you here, beside you, anywhere you go let me go too – Christine that's all I ask of you…" He held her tightly to his side as they looked out over the New York skyline together. He then swept her into a dance, she felt stronger. She felt loved.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… say the word and I will follow you…" He joined in her song and her heart soared. For that moment she was whole again.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning…"

"Say you love me…" She believed him with every fiber of her soul. She wasn't falling in love with him at all, she was already there, in deep.

"You know I do…" Together.

"Love me – that's all I ask of you…" When he kissed her this time she didn't pull away, Raoul was far from her mind as Erik came closer to her lips. "Anywhere you go let me go too… Love me – that's all I ask of you…" He held her close and they both cried from happiness. A beat.

"Are you ready to go? I can order my fine horse power now and be with it at the door…" The world came crashing back. Her state, her past, and her despair. She looked up at him but couldn't tell him the truth.

"Yes, rehearsal is over." She said weakly.

"Let's go inside then. The cold is hell on the voice." He took her hand and they returned to the Opera.

FINS

End of Act One


	14. Intermission

Intermission

A loft in Inwood, New York – The Singers' Slum

_I am a big Mystery Science Theatre 3000 geek… and well, so is Meg and George. And I find there is no better way to simultaneously mock myself and reiterate information than this format. So without further ado…  
Soo Sorry it took so long to up date this, I had it all written but I lost my notebook! Thankfully all is found and all right..._

**The Red Ribbon: A PhanPhiction**, the small TV played the deep announcer's voice as the words appeared on the screen.

"You could've waited!" Meg Giry exclaimed rushing into the room as fast as the bowl of popcorn and mixed drinks would allow her.

"Don't worry, it just started." George replied taking his drink from her.

"Did they just spell Fanfiction with 'ph's?" Meg asked sitting down.

"And they had 'Movie announcer voice dude' pronounce it, incase anyone doesn't know that 'ph' makes an F sound." They returned focus t o the movie as a black bar appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"Oh my God the TV's broken!" Meg exclaimed.

"No it's not, somebody put black paper over part of the lens."

"Oh I see, Hey look Alyssa Milano in this."

"And Adrian Brody." The cast was shone in a montage as the name and character appeared along the bottom.

"I didn't know Gwen Stephani could act." Meg commented.

"She probably can't if I had to guess." George replied.

"Hey Brody won an Oscar, it can't be that bad."

"He may be a good actor, doesn't mean he has taste, the man had a hummer for heaven's sake!"

"But he got rid of it." They watched the movie for a while and munched popcorn. Illustrious names like Taye Diggs, Helen Mirren, Helen Mirren, James Cromwell, Jude Law, Willie Garson, Jai Rodriguez, Remington Steele, Ciaran Hinds, Simon Callow, John Lawrence, Mini Driver, and Young Andrew Lloyd Webber appeared along the bottom.

"How come our apartment doesn't look like that?" Meg asked.

"Hollywood recognize their bohemian roots even if it a paternity test. Sellouts!"

…

"Wow, that totally dubbed actress has Xman ears."

"Goes with the daemon non cannon eyes on the 'phantom'."

…

"They totally ripped that line from the new Phantom Movie."

"Hello, goes with the second hand musical selection. Does Andy Lloyd Webber know they're using his stuff like he's Wal – Marx?"

…

"Oh how sweet, she matches the rose. Gag me."

…

"I think they miss quoted a flashback, are these people too lazy to look back at the script or do they think I'm stupid?!"

…

"And some call me Tim."

…

"Another blatant Webber rip off. I now know where the budget went."

"Where?"

"The lawyers."

"Blood suckers."

…

"Who in their right mind breaks out into song in a crisis?"

"I do."

"Like I said who in their right mind…"

…

"Another line we ripped out of contexts from the Phantom of music." Sung to the tune of Angel of Music

…

They're playing the phantom and this is the phantom - don't they know how it ends?!?!?!?!?!"

…

"Look its weak!Christine and a flashback."

"Sounds like a band."

…

"Cecilia Horner wasn't that you Honors English Ten teacher?"

"Yeah. And didn't a John Lawrence with Iowa State Connections live down the street from you?"

…

"That was a very realistic stomach growl and Oscar to the sound mixer!"

"George that was me."

…

"Oh my God, it's a Gremlin! Don't feed that 'cat' after midnight!"

"Hey at least they're recycling."

…

"Isn't James Cromwell playing a James?"

"He's gotten so old he can't remember if they don't do that."

…

"Oh boy, dream sequence!"

…

"Okay, that is so obviously dubbed… Oh my God it's Michael Crawford!"

"Hey Christine was just Sarah Brightman in a younger body."

"And the fact you figured that out is scary."

…

"Hey they're sleeping together! Gag me!"

…

"Hey there Delilah…"

"Keep singing and I'll rip out your windpipe."

…

"Jesus Christ Superstar reference. Brilliant!

…

_I am not an elephant! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am a man!_

…

"Look you can tell the author had writer's block!"

…

"Wha – what are you?"

"Pissed off! Rawr!"

…

"Hey that's from 'Unexpected Song'."

…

"Has anyone seen Mike Hunt?!"

"GEORGE!"

…

"Is that Jai from Queer Eye?"

"Nothing like type casting."

"… OH my God! Stanford!"

…

"Way to not brag about her measurements! Barbie! Fuck you!"

…

"Sixty pages into the script and the title is explained."

…

"Way to set up a conversation, why don't you talk about politics while you're at it!"

…

"Papa's now Daddy – she's gone from pretentious to like… five."

…

"Yes folks, it's ANOTHER obscure ALW reference."

"With a Tina Turner chaser!"

…

"That's a real street! Oh my God. Now idiots are going to go do something stupid there because everyone always vandalizes addresses mentioned on mass media."

"That's why all phone numbers are 555 – 555- 5555."

…

"The comic relief isn't that funny."

"But Taye Diggs is dreamy."

"Hey you got him right here."

"You look just like him – you're both black! Totally identical." Eye roll

…

"How many songs were in that last scene?"

"Let's see: Our kind of love, Unexpected song, Half a moment, Last man in my life, Only you, Don't cry for me Argentina, I don't know how to love him. So seven."

"And how many shows?"

"Six – The Beautiful Game, Song and Dance (two were from it), By Jeeves, Starlight Express, Evita, and Jesus Christ Superstar."

…

"Chains? Is Jude Law a Jerk or a Gimp?"

"No sounds like Christine would be the gimp. That's kinda hot."

"GEORGE!"

…

"Wow, way to capitalize on one of the worst things to happen to a woman and turn it into a cheesy, poorly done plot point."

"She needs to call 1 – 800 – 656 – HOPE or visit a crisis center."

"Finding a safe place to call the police from and receiving medical attention are both important but knowing that what happened was not her fault is the most important thing."

"There is no shame in coming forward, and not time line. Even if it's years later something can be done."

…

"She already said that line."

"How can you tell?"

"I found it particularly cheesy."

…

"Look yet another story where the Phantom sings 'All I ask of You.'"

"I happen to like clichés."

* * *

Christine Daaé came home looking like she had been run through the ringer. She was worn and strained.

"Were you on a date or in a fight?" George asked pausing the movie. It took her a while to reply.

"I don't know yet." She looked at the film. "What are you watching?"

"Some Z grade drama romance based on the Phantom of the Opera." George said.

"Except there are more departures from cannon than the last couple of Harry Potter films." Meg added making room on the sofa by sliding into her beau's lap.

"Finish with us, the dialogue and segways are good for a laugh."

"Nah, I'm kinda tired. I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."

"Alright. Sleep tight." George said pushing play.

"G'night." Meg curled up on her lover, Christine left.

"How come you don't tire me out like that anymore?"

"Shhh…. It's the morning after scene."


	15. Act Two Scene One

Act Two; Scene One

The Daaé/ Giry/ Darby Loft

"You know crying alone in the bathroom is not a good thing." Meg Giry said through the closed door with a mixture of humor and worry. Christine had arrived home from yet another date with her new mystery man looking like death over easy. She had arrived during open credits of a movie, it was now three later and she was still locked in the full bath. When Meg had knocked to jokingly ask if she had drowned she had heard sobbing.

"I'm okay, Meg. I… I… I nicked myself shaving."

"The only time I've know someone to cry like that over spilled blood was the bad actress in the last Civil War movie we watched. What's wrong?"

"Go away Meg." Tears undermined her seriousness. Meg tried the door. It was locked tight.

"Christine Letitia Daaé you unlock this door right now or so help me I will have George break it down!"

"What am I doing _Mon Lapin_?" George called from the other room.

"Calling my mother."

Christine had done her best to keep her time with Erik as 'normal' as possible. On the outside she was smiling, on the inside she was cold and hollow and dying. Feigning tire after rehearsal and her 'scare' she was able to graciously get home after a short drive in town. She had been proud of her performance for Meg and George, a few short pleasantries and she was free.

The first thing she did was find her prescription for the morning after pill; she had a few left after Minnesota, even though she used them a lot while she was there. She took her pill dry feeling ill. Closing her eyes for a moment she took a centering breath. With new resolution she marched to the bathroom. If she were to report this she shouldn't do a thing, not even brush the foul taste out of her mouth. But she wasn't going to report this. She never reported any of it. Raoul was too powerful and she was too afraid.

Instead she began her cleaning ritual, the steps burned in her brain. She brushed her teeth until her gums bleed and her bristles turned pink. She stripped naked and threw the soiled clothing in the hamper. After checking for injuries she ran a scalding bath and climbed in. She scrubbed herself raw with the harshest soap several times over, until she felt like she had no skin and then she sat and the she cried. One tear and then many.

"You know crying alone in the bathroom is not a good thing." It was Meg. Christine didn't want to be alive, let alone see people. _Go Away!_

"I'm okay Meg." Damn voice, "I… I… I nicked myself shaving."

"The only time I've know someone to cry like that over spilled blood was the bad actress in the last Civil War movie we watched. What's wrong?"

"Go away Meg." _God, just let me die in the foot of bathwater._ The tears made her squeaky. She could barely convince herself. Meg tried the door. Christine knew it was locked but she balled up anyway. _Go away, just go away._

"Christine Letitia Daaé!" It was Raoul's voice, but it was Meg's. More tears, more shakes. "You unlock this door right now or so help me I will have George break it down!" Christine curled tighter into a ball.

"Calling my mother." Meg said to George. _Great, now Madam is involved._ But Christine couldn't bring herself to leave. It was like her body was too tired to hide, too tired to pretend.

"Mama." Marie Giry was instantly awakened by the tone in her daughter's voice.

"What is it?" Everything that could go wrong was running through her head.

"Christine's locked in the bathroom. She's crying and won't let me in."

"_**ERIK**_!" Marie was seething as she dressed. She could just kill that borrowed boy of hers if there was even a breath of him bending a hair on Christine's head.

By the time Marie got to the bathroom door the bathwater was like ice but Christine remained. Now numb physically and emotionally. George didn't break the door down, but he did pick the lock.

"Christine, honey?" Marie asked carefully, she and Meg entered. They took one look at her, and even Meg, who hated kids, was mothering her.

"Get out of that tub NOW, you'll catch cold." Christine's chattering teeth and tear stained face undermined her snarky reply of

"Too late." George hid in the bedroom.

"What happened?" Christine looked down at herself, now grey with purple bruises. It was the last thing she saw.

"Oh Mama, what's happened?"

"I fear I know the one responsible, Erik is…"

"Not to blame!" She was disoriented but knew that and shouted it as she flew up from the bed. She was in bed, wrapped tightly in several quilts with her adopted female family around her.

"Christine, calm down." Marie pushed her back onto the bed.

"Erik has NOTHING to do with this."

"Than tell me who does so I can kill him!" Meg was in a rage, her eyes were red and steam was rolling out of every hole in her head.

"It was Raoul." The truth came out like a liberated prisoner. She told them everything.

Meg and Marie were dead silent through it all, this time, last time, and every time. From her scar to night scares she exercised every daemon. There was total silence.

"I'm so sorry." Meg finally whispered.

"Don't be. I feel better already."

"Thank God we're off tomorrow, we're going to the hospital and the cops."

"Please, not the police." Christine begged.

"WHY THE FUCK NOT?" Meg screamed.

"I scrubbed the evidence away, it's my word against his and he has lawyers that could battle Daniel Webster. It's no use."

"Oh Christine."

"Don't 'oh Christine' me. Such is my story, such is my fate. Tomorrow I'll go to the clinic and life will go on."

"How can you be this calm? How can she be so fucking calm?" Meg was angry enough for everyone in the room and then some.

"Meg please, I'd like to get some sleep. Delicately explain to George, would you?" Meg nodded and left. Mother figure and youth were left in silence.

"How can I tell him?" Christine began to cry again.

"Who?" Marie asked, trying her best to comfort.

"Erik. He found me after and I lied to him. God, how can I tell him I'm spoiled goods?"

"You are no such thing and Erik will understand." Marie said firmly.

"I love him." She said, "I want to be perfect for him. But… but…" she lost it. _She loved him?_ Marie was a mess of worry for a whole new reason. She loved Erik like her own. But he was… difficult among other things. But yet Cece says that she'd never seen him look at anything like he looked at Christine.

"Christine, Erik, lo… cares about you, very much, don't worry. Now get some sleep, tomorrow will be rough."

"Erik…" Christine began again.

"Tomorrow." Marie turned out the light and left to join her daughter.

"I don't want Christine moving about and such until she goes to the clinic any rest she can get is golden." Marie began having to hold her emotions in check in order to stop a two person torch wielding mob.

"I totally agree." George said. He was feeling intense guilt; there must've been something he could've done.

"I have one thing that throws that though. Christine would like to see Erik."

"Erik, is this the guy she's been seeing?" George asked, trying to place the name.

"Yes. But there's something you need to know about him."

"What?"

"He's the Phantom of the Opera."


	16. Act Two Scene Two

Act Two; Scene Two

The Daaé/ Giry/ Darby Loft

"He's the Phantom of the Opera."

"I told you he was real." Meg took her 'I told you so' moment.

"But he's not what you think. Erik is a good guy. He's a genius and passionate musician. But he does have a disfigurement and a fear of society."

"It doesn't matter any more." George said firmly. Marie smiled.

"We'll be over tomorrow, brace yourselves."

It wouldn't matter how braced Meg and George were, Erik would've shaken it to the core. He swept in like Hurricane Erik at ten am, breathing like he'd run the whole way, looking like a male Christine. He wore all black; fedora, overcoat, turtleneck, slacks, shiny FBI shoes. The exception was a red scarf. That was the first thing Meg noticed, and then she saw his mask. Even though Marie and explained and threatened about the mask it still threw her. She did her best to look past it. His eyes were intense, filled with more grey than any opera or Russian play had ever seen. Worry and distrust left her. Her 'sister' was in safe hands.

"Where is she? What's going on?" his beautiful voice was riddled with worry.

"She was sleeping last I checked." Meg said the raw emotion was shaking her; she was even the 'passionate' one.

"She's asleep, Erik, it gives you a little time to take your coat off and _be polite_." Marie said in her forceful mother way. Erik slumped slightly before removing his outerwear which George took like a good host. Even though this was a crisis, Meg couldn't help but love and admire George and his domestic skills.

"Erik, this is my daughter Meg." They shook hands at Marie's introduction. His was like ice, smooth and firm, but chilly. "And her boyfriend George." George was fairly tall, but not next to Erik. Silence.

"Can I go see her… please?" The great Phantom of the Opera was begging.

"Meg, George why don't you go do something couple – like for a while." Marie told more than suggested.

"Step ahead a ya 'Rie." George said grabbing their coats. He held up Meg's ten dollar thrift store purple passion pea coat and helped her into it like a gentleman. He then threw on his own coat; a double breasted wool thing in electric blue.

"See you later. Nice meeting you Erik."

"Bye." Meg waved and the pair headed out the door. Marie smiled and waved good bye before turning to Erik.

"Her room's last on the right. Be calm, she's shaken up." Erik nodded.

She looked peaceful enough, he noted from her doorway. She was curled around a pillow sleeping like an angel. Marie had said she was hurt. Marie had said she was in trouble.

"Christine?" He said quietly, not wanting to startle her as he approached.

"Erik?" she asked rolling over to see him. "Erik!" she began to cry. _What did I do?_

"I'm sorry." She choked out; he sat on the edge of her bed.

"For what?" He wasn't understanding.

"I'm no good for you."

"What?!" Erik was surprised was the world's biggest understatement. Christine took a breath. _This is nobody's fault but Raoul's._ She told herself again and again. But how was she going to explain to Erik? Another deep breath.

"Raoul is not happy about us." She began.

"But he can't hurt you anymore, I'm here, remember? I love you." Christine began to laugh bitterly, new tears filling her eyes. _I've shed enough tears to float a navy._

"He already has Erik." Silence. Dead silence, her words, cold painful sound were ripping out his heart and he couldn't make a sound.

"HE WHAT?!" And then all he could do was scream. Christine was shaking. _Control yourself man!_

"Last night?" he asked ten fold quieter, he gathered her in his arms.

"It's why I was on the roof."

"You weren't going to jump off were you?" He asked hurriedly, with a humorous look although he was serious. She smiled a little.

"No, I was hiding."

"From who?" He asked softly.

"Everyone – him, me, the past." She pulled away. That was when he saw her neck. The long, thin scar made his blood boil.

"I haven't told you everything." She said.

But after a few breaths and crying spells she had. She told him the full truth of last night. And she told him why she left St. Paul.

"He hated when I sang, I was taking voice lessons at the time and they threatened him. …. It was a champagne bottle, sharp as hell but not heavy enough to do damage to anything but my skin. I don't know how I got to the hospital but I woke up with this scar. I've been hiding ever since." Erik traced the scar with a finger, she closed her eyes pained. The ribbon was her mask, her disfigurement an unforgiving lover. There was no reason to ask why she hid, he knew, he understood. There was a 'moment'. His fingers remained on her neck as she slowly removed his mask. There they sat, scars revealed and scars were over looked. Under his fingers she felt healed, and under hers he felt whole. But he was blind with rage, she could feel him seething.

"I'm going to kill him." He swore.

"No, Erik, please, don't kill him. He's not worth what would happen to you. With his family money it'd be bad."

"As long as something happens to him I don't care about what happens to me. If he pays for what he's done and did to you and if he never does it again I will take even death happily." Erik replied passionately springing up to pace around her room. He couldn't think of anything horrific enough to do to the bastard.

"Erik, no, please don't." Christine begged leaning forward and taking his large hand in her small ones. "I can't loose you." She whispered. Erik returned to her bed feeling horribly selfish. How could he disregard Christine's wishes?

"We've got to do something _mon ange_, he can't get away with this." He said drawing her to his side and resting his cheek on her silken hair.

"He can and will, the evidence is down the drain and it's my word against his money." The hopelessness of the situation made her want to die.

"There has got to be a way and I will find it and he will never touch a hair on your head again." Erik said with the conviction of his very soul.

"I trust you Erik." Christine said sounding soft and sleepy. Erik smiled and stroked her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. He then gently laid her back in bed, tucking her like precious treasure into the down of her blankets before kissing her forehead. He thought of leaving and plotting but with one look at his sleeping angel he knew better, he belonged beside her. Quietly he took off his belt and turtleneck and toed off his shoes. His mask safely on the nightstand and the door shut Erik climbed into her bed. She instinctively rolled into his arms and they both slept soundly.

Meg and George returned an hour later from a poetry slam and found a silent house. Erik's coat was still in the closet but even the clock was silent. Marie had left shortly after her daughter and almost son in law, her only delay in exit was her parental need to straighten and snoop in the kitchen. Once she was assured that the loft had real food not junk and that Christine was settled with Erik she left. And now Meg and George had returned.

"They've got to still be here." George whispered sounding loud and harsh in the quiet. Slowly the pair crept to Christine's closed door. With and ear at the crack between door and floor Meg was able to hear the sounds of sleep. Christine's light wispy breath as well as a lower, richer snore. Erik was spending the night.


End file.
